Closer to the Edge
by zosimos
Summary: Reverse'verse: Because of his many talents, one of Edward's new duties is running the circus that the State Alchemist examinations has become. Things rarely go smoothly for Edward. FMA Bigbang 2011 entry.
1. Chapter 1

Chapter 1

The sky was the color of reflected fires; heavy oranges and dark blue mixed together against a low ceiling of clouds. The heat was completely unbearable. It filled his lungs and he couldn't breathe, the toxic smoke eating away at his sinuses and his nose running uncontrollably.

Edward Elric sat back against the wooden crates stacked haphazardly outside the medic's tent. He'd crawled out earlier, ducking under the noses of the medical personnel while dragging his nearly useless right leg behind him. He'd left a very obvious set of tracks in the sand but he had to get out of the oppressive atmosphere of the medical unit. The stench of death was everywhere; the metallic tang of blood was only noticeable in its absence.

Alphonse was not here for this. Edward rested his head back against the crate and stared at the dark sky, thankful for his brother's absence. He'd hallucinated Alphonse's presence earlier, before the pain medication had set in. His little brother as a big, shuffling suit of armor, blocking Edward from the foul nurses intent on sticking him with their needles. He knew it was only a hallucination, though, as Alphonse was safe in Resembool – the only remnant of that armor a helmet preserved on a bookshelf in the study.

There was yelling in the distance, the language his own, and then the sharp staccato burst of gunfire. Edward felt like he should be numb by now but he still felt his gorge rising. There was nothing left at this point to throw up but bile.

What a fool he was, to be here.

It was slightly cooler though, outside the tent. A small wind stirred the bangs that were not plastered to his forehead with sweat. The wind was acrid, tinged with the smell of roasting flesh. There was a respite there, a hint that the heavy clouds may be laden with rain to cool the fires of war.

The crates shifted a little as someone dropped into a seated position next to him. Edward looked over at Roy Mustang, as weary as Edward had ever seen him. Mustang looked like he hadn't slept in days – and he probably hadn't. The Ishbalan extremists were getting desperate. They were surrounded on one side by the Amestrian army, and on the other by a harsh desert stretching for kilometers. The military had to win this fight, this small battalion was the only thing that stood between the marauding extremists and several rural towns that thrived on the edge of the desert. Small village towns, too much like Resembool. They couldn't be let into the country.

"You look like shit," Edward croaked, his voice unfamiliar in his own ears.

Mustang rested his elbows on his knees and tilted his head back, looking at the sky overhead as Edward had been doing. "So do you," he said, and there was a smile in his voice. "Someone's going to flip out when they see you dragged yourself out of your cot, Ed."

His name. No title, no formalities. No recrimination for the fact that once again Edward did something stupid, almost got himself and others killed. Edward looked down at the sand, his right leg stick-straight out in front of him, splint tied to keep the bone in place.

"Let them," Edward said. "It smells like piss in there."

The small smile on Mustang's face faded. "This has to end, you know."

Edward was confused. He looked at Mustang's face, but he was still looking at the sky above them, at a small gap in the clouds that a star somehow peeked through. This wasn't how the conversation went. "What?"

Mustang finally looked over at Edward, his expression mournful. It was a strange emotion for Edward to see on Mustang, his face was usually settled into such a careful, blank slate. "You can't hold on forever."

There was a sharp whistle over them, and hey both looked to the sky as a mortar shell exploded in the distance. "What," Edward tried to ask again as the ringing got louder in his ears. "That doesn't make any sen-"

* * *

><p>The alarm clock buzzed itself off the shelf above the bed and very narrowly missed Edward's head, bouncing off the pillow and sliding into the depression between the two pillows. Edward stared at the alarm clock like he'd never seen one before – it was still buzzing, clock face pointed down at the mattress - and after a moment Edward smacked the alarm clock silent.<p>

It was mostly dark in his bedroom. There was a very faint hint of light under the curtains, but nowhere near enough to see by. Disgruntled, Edward rolled over and reached for the lamp, yanking the chain sharply and wincing blearily at the warm light that spilled from the bedside table.

He set the clock back on its precarious perch. It had been a long time since he had that dream. Edward rested his elbows on his knees and rubbed his eyes with his real hand. He lifted his hand and stared across the empty bedroom, the hair on the back of his neck prickling with the feeling of being watched.

Occasionally Edward felt if he glanced over his shoulder fast enough, he'd still see him, buried face-down in the pillow and grumbling about mornings coming too soon.

Sometimes, five years felt like a day had passed; and others it felt like a lifetime.

No matter how many times he thought about it, regardless of where he had been on that day the outcome would have been the same. They were a split-off rebel group from the Ishbalan extremists, intent on carving out their own nation. Edward barely knew the politics behind the entire fiasco. He really didn't care to know it. It didn't matter.

The awards ceremony had been the worst of it. He had still been on crutches, promoted for his 'acting heroism in the line of duty' or some other such bullshit – but it wasn't for himself that he was present. He had to be there for the others, the friends who didn't come back.

He had to be there for Roy.

Edward stared at his hands, mismatched on the cold white porcelain sink. They were shooting at him, and that never slowed him down before. It was a sinkhole in the sand, catching him off guard and wrenching his leg violently, the bone snapping easier than he could imagine. If he hadn't gotten caught in that, if he'd managed to keep his feet, if he had been on the front lines where he belonged and not recovering in a medic's tent … would it have made a difference?

Five years later and still he could only think of the ifs.

He hated the shower head in his flat as much as it hated him, spitting lukewarm water at him in various pressures. Edward shaved in the shower, not that he was ever able to achieve much more than uneven stubble, but "scruffy" was not the proper look for a military officer.

_If he had been there..._

The realist in him knew that regardless of where he had been that day, the outcome would have been the same. The Ishbalans were too well entrenched. The conflict had already turned into a war of attrition. Someone had to do _something _before it led to a war with the fledgling Ishbalan nation.

After all, what was two people's happiness compared to the overwhelming loss of life that future would have held?

By the time he stepped out of the shower, the sun had crept over the horizon. A towel on his shoulders and wearing only his military trousers Edward ate a simple breakfast, toast and coffee left in the pot from the night before. His kitchen table was covered in papers, a stack of haphazard folders he had taken home the night before with the promise he would look through them. A worthy distraction. Edward picked up the top one and sat it on the kitchen counter, flipping through the papers inside as he crunched his dry toast, eyes flickering over the lines of text with practiced speed.

The flat was small and ill-kept. Books of all shapes and sizes were piled against, and on, any available surface. The living area was cramped; with the desk pushed close to the sole window to take advantage of the natural light, overstuffed sofa and chairs that didn't match practically sitting atop each other, and half-empty bookshelves because their contents were pulled down and all over the floor. A fine layer of dust sat over most everything – Edward did not even notice.

He had shoved a grate in front of the fireplace, and piled even more books in front of it. Too many happy memories there, never to be replicated. He didn't like fire now.

The dregs of his coffee now finished, Edward contemplated another pot. The coffee was Havoc's influence. Alphonse had tried, profoundly _tried_ to make him into a tea drinker but it was just not to be. Edward liked his coffee black and strong enough to peel his eyelids off. No one with any regards to their sense of taste would drink from the pots of sludge he brewed.

Edward flipped the folder closed instead. These were the files of all the people who had passed the first round of qualifying examinations for State Alchemist certification this year. As usual, a couple hundred people – ranging in age from way too young to way too old – sat for the initial written examination. Out of the several hundred people, nearly a hundred had passed with high enough marks to sit for the interview and practical examinations.

Prior to the practical examinations, all applicants had to pass a full military physical. Without even looking closely Edward knew that would halve the pool of wannabe State Alchemists. One had to be physically fit, able to serve in the military corps if the country went to war during their tenure as a State Alchemist. So all those men and women who were looking for funding for their for their research and had no qualms about selling out to the military also had to be competent enough to be equally used by the military.

Equivalent exchange.

Edward had made the mistake of opening his smart-ass mouth during his re-certification two years ago; about how asinine and simplistic the test requirements were and how the military could save so much time on the interview process if they restructured the entire examination. General Mauer – who particularly disliked him after Edward had 'accidentally' let slip about the fact that Mauer didn't usually escort his wife to military functions – had overheard, and word was passed through the top military brass until acting-Fuhrer Dalton decreed that, because Edward Elric was FAR more knowledgeable about the ins and outs of the State Alchemist exams, he would be the one to restructure and run the event from here on out.

Alphonse had laughed himself sick when he heard about it, the news traveled way too fast to his nosy little brother's ears. Edward had called him to sulk about it and got laughed at for his troubles instead.

It all worked out in the end – Edward's talents lay with keeping the alchemists in the army in line anyway. When it wasn't the State Alchemist examinations, Edward and his small unit policed and dealt with the many, many alchemists in the Amestrian army. It usually ran toward the cleaning-up-after-them end of the spectrum, and Edward had gotten a taste for what Roy probably had to deal with on a daily basis where he was concerned.

The interviews for the qualifying candidates were coming up as the approved applicants were filtered through the physicals, and this was the worst part of it. Even if Edward was technically "in charge" of the interviews, he had to conduct them with General Mauer and acting-Fuhrer Dalton himself breathing down his neck. Not that Edward was particularly nervous, as this was the third year he'd dealt with that, he just really hated both of their guts, and the fact that they enjoyed making his life miserable was just the icing on the damn cake.

At least the military had gotten a bit more strict in their requirements, in no way thanks to that little loophole that allowed a loud-mouthed twelve-year-old with automail into the military. Edward Elric was still the youngest State Alchemist ever to pass the qualifications and the way things were now, it was going to stay that way.

Edward threw on a tee shirt – a little too tight, not that anyone ever really saw it under the stiff military jacket – and he fastened the clasps by feel. A quick tug on the bottom hem of the jacket to make sure it was sitting on his shoulders properly, and then of course the boots. Edward had a hair tie in his teeth when, right on schedule, the stiff rap came at the front door of his flat. "Boss," Jean Havoc's voice was muffled through the thick wooden door. "You better put a move on, you're gonna be late!"

He lived on the first floor of a two-story building. When Edward had first moved into the small apartment blocks from the base, he had HAD upstairs neighbors. But somewhere between the one kidnapping attempt, that raucous birthday party that Havoc and Alphonse threw and that one incident with the chimera; his upstairs neighbors vacated the property.

Edward almost tripped himself off the cracked cement stoop in his hurry. Havoc hadn't bothered to wait at the door, especially with the way Edward slammed it open. He was leaning against the idling car, hand cupped over his lighter as he tried desperately to get his nicotine fix in before the day started. He glanced up in time to watch Edward shut the skirt of his uniform in the door behind him and snarl loudly at it.

This was a morning ritual that he was accustomed to. Havoc finally got his cigarette lit, ignoring Edward as he ripped the uniform skirt free from the door frame and stormed toward the waiting, idling military vehicle.

"Mornin', boss," Havoc said, his salute loose and easy as he opened the door for Edward. As usual, Edward clapped his hands and smoothed out the new tear in his military uniform with a quick burst of alchemy.

"I'm going to need a new uniform soon," Edward grunted, getting into the car. Havoc made sure that Edward didn't leave any trailing bits of uniform behind before getting into the driver's seat himself. "I don't understand why we even have this ass-cape in the first damn place."

Havoc didn't respond, starting the car and staring straight ahead, his face twitching with the effort of not snickering. Edward leaned forward, over the front seat and rested his chin in his gloved hand as he glared right at Havoc and enunciated his words clearly. "Is there something _wrong_, lieutenant?"

The cigarette barely wiggled in the corner of his mouth. "Nope," Havoc said, no longer stifling the amused grin on his face. "Nothing at all, colonel."

"Good," Edward said, sitting back in the seat. He crossed his arms over his chest and tried very hard not to sulk, instead staring out the window thoughtfully as Havoc began the familiar drive to base.

* * *

><p>Daylight was washed out, the skies full of heavy gray clouds, threatening to unload their contents on the military base below. It was a Thursday, and it felt like one. The base was buzzing with the unspoken excitement of the weekend nearly upon them. The military car was waved into the base by inattentive guards, who did a cursory check of the vehicle, and Edward watched silently as the men chattered away about their weekend plans.<p>

It seemed, sometimes, that Edward didn't have much respect around the base. There were a lot of whispers about him. Soldiers already on duty often gave Edward wide berth. He knew, logically, the wide berth was a result of his legendary displays of temper before his first cup of morning coffee, but he liked to _think_ that he grew out of those a few years ago.

Despite his rank and years with the military, Edward never managed to beat nature into submission and gain much more in the way of height. He was the youngest ever to be promoted to the rank of colonel – beating the record held, ironically enough, by Roy Mustang before him. Everyone on base in Central City knew Edward on sight, even once he'd traded in his brilliant red for the much subtler, military-issue blue.

Some of the soldiers stationed at the main base in Central City still remembered Edward being a thousand times more volatile, clad in fiery red and trailed after by a much larger, sheepish suit of armor who cleaned up his tantrums. Those days were long past now, and Edward had since learned how to deal with his own messes (or who to bribe to clean them up for him). He had gone from being the one regularly bailed out of the military brig to the one posting bail – and disciplinary action – for the men in his command.

It had been such a gradual transition that he hardly noticed it.

Captain Riza Hawkeye was already at the office. She looked up at Edward's entrance, and he winced, expecting to be chastised for his tardiness. Instead she went back to sorting the paperwork on her desk, and Edward looked around the empty office, a bit off his guard. Havoc was still parking the car, but the other desks were yet unoccupied. "Okay," Edward said. "What's going on?"

Hawkeye straightened the folders she had, before tucking them under her arm and walking over to the filing cabinet. "Good morning, colonel."

"Something is going on," Edward insisted, watching her warily from the doorway. "No one came to my door in the middle of the night – at least that I _heard _– and people are missing and Havoc's acting jumpy. Did someone finally assassinate acting-Fuhrer Dalton?" It was a well-known fact that Edward Elric kept his phone off the hook over night, so in an emergency Havoc was usually the one dispatched to bang on his door until Edward emerged. Of course, that was barring the fact that easily half of their emergencies were caused by Edward in the first place.

"Don't be seditious with the door open," Hawkeye said calmly, flipping through the folders in the open drawer briskly.

"I wasn't talking about assassinating him _myself_," Edward muttered, but came into the outer office anyway. "Why's everyone on edge?"

Hawkeye paused a fraction of a moment – barely noticeable but a hesitation nevertheless. "There's nothing going on," she said. "You're imagining things again, Edward."

"You're plotting against me," Edward muttered. "You, and Fuery, and Alphonse. You three are up to something and I'm on to you." Hawkeye raised an eyebrow at Edward, who gestured to the empty desks. "And Heckle and Jeckle, where are they?"

'Heckle' and 'Jeckle' were a pair of soldiers that had been moved to Edward's command fresh out of the military academy a year and a half ago. They had never been deployed, and were closer in age to Edward than they were to the senior officers in the garrison. Edward did know their names – Cushler was an aspiring alchemist, although he had no head for transmutation circles and had a better chance of setting his hair on fire than actually utilizing alchemy successfully in a fight. Bailey, on the other hand, was a quiet man. He was a researcher, not of just alchemy but all sorts of occult lore. Given a minute to expound on any of his subjects and he was likely to drone your ear off. Both of the young soldiers were whip-smart and very useful, and just odd enough that they fit into the unit perfectly.

"They're at the canteen," Hawkeye said. "The coffee machine is broken again." She gave him a look out of the corner of her eye that told him he needed to get with it this morning. "You have a meeting at oh-nine-hundred, sir, perhaps you should take a look at your notes first?"

Edward sighed and shuffled into the office proper. He was often reminded that he really wasn't the one in charge here, appearances to the contrary. Although, without Havoc and Hawkeye at his back, he would be dead – or worse, in jail – by now.

Hawkeye almost didn't come back to the military. She had been injured in the conflict, and he didn't see her again until the funeral. Her left arm was in a sling, her face blank, and her eyes as empty as Edward had ever seen them. He knew the look all too well, it was the same one he had been staring at in the mirror every day until that point. He had promised her then that he would do what he could to keep Roy's dream alive, but he would need help. He couldn't do it alone.

When he reported for duty, his new rank sending him to a different part of the base, he was greeted not only by a handful of new, strange faces saluting him, but Hawkeye beside her desk, her face tired but her eyes just the way that Edward remembered.

Edward edged the door to his office closed with his boot and sighed. His office, like his home, was tiny. Edward liked it that way, he didn't see the point in wasting the empty space. Alphonse had sat in this office with him and speculated over whiskey one night how Edward should decorate the new workspace that came with this promotion. Bookshelves wouldn't work, because Edward would get distracted and start reading the books on the shelves as an excuse to get out of work. An Elric and an unread book was a dangerous mix, he could lose hours. That didn't leave much else that would be acceptable, although Alphonse did have to talk Edward out of getting a generic mannequin in a military uniform for target practice. Such a thing just wouldn't be appropriate in the office of a colonel.

There was already a pile of paperwork waiting for him. Edward slid out his desk chair and sat, surveying his domain. Paperwork, paperwork, and more paperwork. There were arrest reports for alchemists throughout the country. A few mortuary reports – alchemists who died strange, abnormal deaths got reported to the military per an old law, even if they weren't State Alchemists. Edward wasn't foolish enough to believe that even a quarter of those got reported, but it helped nip trouble in the bud if someone had died creating a monster. Edward didn't really have anyone to send out on missions currently – both Hawkeye and Havoc, while extraordinarily talented, didn't know much more about the ins and outs of alchemy than the average civilian. Cushler and Bailey had a bit of a leg up on them in that regard, but had absolutely zero experience in running solo missions. Their garrison needed a State Alchemist assigned to it - Edward was having to work a lot of cases by himself, and that was _hard_ when people were beginning to recognize him.

He stared at the shifting pile of paperwork. Maybe he needed two or three.

Once upon a time when Edward was not bound to a desk by unending stacks of paperwork, he wondered what, precisely, Mustang DID all day when he wasn't planning a coup de'tat. Somehow, Edward figured the man took more naps. He worked much harder than Edward ever suspected. Havoc had told him one night at the bar after they got out of the office, the paperwork used to be that much worse, because Hawkeye used to have everything done in triplicate. Apparently when Mustang was really trying to skirt his work he'd burn the paperwork of the people he didn't like in some kind of strange hoodoo ceremony.

It was impressive that Hawkeye let him live as long as she did, when he thought about it.

There was a small stack of paperwork set aside with a note pinned to the top sheet. It was a note from Hawkeye, a list of the names and ranks of the various other officers who would be attending this meeting. It was some kind of budget meeting, he hated those the most because he could never stay awake for them. Hawkeye had made small notations next to the name of each officer, marking off enemies and allies. These days Edward knew full well who everyone was, but there were several incidents early on in his career that Hawkeye wanted to make sure were never repeated.

Edward took the note off the top of the stack and penciled a small transmutation circle over the words, before he put it in the ancient ash tray that sat on the edge of his desk. He tapped his fingers on the circle and the letters and circle lit blue a brief moment before the note itself went up in a self-contained fireball. Within seconds it was a pile of ash on his desktop. The last thing Edward needed was his enemies getting their hands on a list of his allies, after all.

That taken care of, Edward glanced at the paperwork that pertained to the budget meeting, and then grabbed the top folder from another pile. He also had the first set of interviews this afternoon in a small building near the library. It was going to be a busy day.

* * *

><p>Fletcher Tringham stared at the pile of books in front of him and scowled. He had to fight and scrape for this unoccupied table in the public library - the State Alchemist candidates had all but overrun the library by the time Fletcher had gotten there - and now he really didn't feel like staring at the pages of tiny handwriting in tight, archaic script. He might have had a better head for languages than his older brother, but that didn't mean he wanted to spend all his time in a musty old library squinting in bad light. It was no wonder that Russell already had reading glasses - the idiot was bound and determined to ruin his vision before the age of thirty.<p>

He really didn't know what he was doing here. He'd gotten the phone call from Russell out of the blue - they'd had an awesome, world-ending fight almost two years ago when Fletcher told Russel he needed to grow the hell up and stop chasing after Edward Elric's shadow. Russell was an amazing alchemist in his own right, a genius, probably - but he was so insanely competitive, and he'd fixated on the man he spent so long trying to be that it had gone beyond the pale.

So they'd fought, and Fletcher had stormed off and Russell told him never to come back so - he hadn't. Russell probably didn't mean the things he'd said, but they stung nonetheless.

The phone call had come out of the blue. Russell had, first, apologized, and second - asked for a favor. Fletcher had been so completely stunned by the first act that he agreed readily to help his older brother out without really asking what, precisely, the favor entailed. But they were brothers, and Russell had actually been the one to extend an olive branch - granted, he _needed_ something, but...

Fletcher sighed and scratched the side of his head with his pencil. He hadn't seen his brother in close to two years, so he had been completely shocked when Russell greeted him wearing the familiar dress blues of the Amestrian military. "Worth it all for the look on your face," Russell had said with smug satisfaction.

Apparently, Russell had enlisted as a State Alchemist and was finally making a legitimate name for himself instead of mucking about using someone else's name and title as a shield. Color Fletcher completely surprised by THAT development, it seemed that his brother might have actually taken the advice that Fletcher had forced down his throat.

At the same time, the thought of Russell unleashed in the military didn't set well on his gut.

Russell's favor was an odd one to ask. He wanted Fletcher to sit for the State Alchemist exams. Fletcher initially refused him - he had no interest in enlisting in the military, he was helping run a flower stand in Aquaroya and was quite happy there. But Russell assured him that he didn't have to take the certification if he passed, he just needed someone to sit for the exams.

And, most infuriatingly, he would not tell Fletcher _why_.

So here he was, a rusty alchemist that was trying to bone up on some archaic lore before the face-to-face formal interviews in the next few days.

When he saw Russell for lunch yesterday, his brother had hinted he wouldn't have any difficulty with the formal interviews - but again, he wouldn't tell him why. This whole exercise was making Fletcher's head hurt - his brother wasn't just going to owe him one, he was going to owe him TWELVE. All this espionage bullshit, it was going to drive him bonkers. He wasn't a spy, he really wasn't much of an alchemist any more; not an actively studying one. Sure, he used bits of alchemy to help the plants flourish and flowers grow in Aquaroya, but he wasn't doing groundbreaking research or trying to synthesize the Philosopher's Stone or anything of any great merit.

The public library was a popular place to be - he had seen lots of people he presumed were candidates as well. There were, strangely enough, a high concentration of foreign nationals taking the examinations this year. Or maybe they were the only ones interested in studying, because they were the ones who hung around the public library the most. It was the most eclectic grouping of alchemists Fletcher had ever seen in his career - Drachmians and Xingians and even a couple of people from Aeurga and one lapsed Ishbalan, with his light hair cut short and red eyes shaded by dark glasses.

The Ishbalan in particular caught Fletcher's eye. Russell had told him to be observant to the other candidates, although he hadn't singled anyone out in particular the man made Fletcher nervous. He had never had a run-in with members of that religious order that ended particularly well. Tensions were still heightened; after all it wasn't that long ago that the previous Fuhrer had tried to wipe them off the map.

He watched everyone, though, he watched the interactions of the alchemists; who they conversed with, what language they were using, and so on. He was an alchemist no matter how long out of practice, observation skills came with package.

Fletcher flipped up the cover of the book sitting in front of him, thought about Ari and winced - while she knew that he had a brother, she'd never met Russell and had been really upset about how he was willing to drop everything and head out to Central to help. He had left his job tending to the flower shop to do this, and that pleased her even less (although he knew good and well that Mr. Hopkins would take him back on in a heartbeat).

But, she would get over it.

... he hoped.

Russell was damn lucky that Fletcher liked him, because he _really_ liked Arianne. He sighed again, flipping the cover of the book a few more times as he contemplated just leaving the library. His head was too full of espionage and counter-intelligence to even begin contemplating advanced theoretical alchemy.

Never mind complex, advanced theoretical alchemy that involved the unstable, unreliable factor of living organisms like the plant alchemy both he and Russell specialized in. Fletcher sighed and put down his pencil. He really needed a drink.

To Fletcher's surprise, someone sat down at the other end of the table. He looked up, to see someone he kind of recognized from the first examination. A very pretty, raven-haired woman with a Drachmian accent.

She smiled coyly at him, and Fletcher bit his lip and glanced down at the book again, then thought about Ari for a second. Fletcher glanced up at her and smiled back.

* * *

><p>It was almost lunchtime, and food was the farthest thing from Edward's mind. He was staring at the pile of papers on his desk with a blank expression. It was entirely possible that he couldn't even see the paper – at this point, Havoc had laid money down that Edward had all-but-perfected Mustang's signature move: sleeping with your eyes open.<p>

In reality Edward was very much awake, just lost in thought. There was so much going on currently. His involvement in the first stage of the state qualifying examinations was pretty minimal - he wrote the initial examination but he didn't play hall monitor - he was a colonel after all. Edward did have OTHER duties; the opinion of the military brass be damned.

There was so much to do at this point that he was overloaded. Edward stared at the piles of paper and tried to will them into self-immolation. He swore he had finally started a spark when the phone on his desk rang loudly and startled him.

The internal phone system on base was set up through a switchboard operator, so stray calls did not make it through to the higher level military officers. Edward looked at the phone with distaste, then sighed and picked up the receiver. "Colonel Elric."

"Brother!"

Edward's face broke out into a wide grin despite himself. "Al!"

Alphonse Elric, newly restored to flesh, had followed in his brother's footsteps and joined up in the Amestrian military. Due to their prior service, Mustang was able to finagle it so that neither Elric brother had to attend the military academy, and got Alphonse into the door at the rank of Major on the merits of his initial State Alchemist examination all those many years ago.

In the ensuing years however, Alphonse had chosen not to become a licensed State Alchemist, pursuing instead a career in Intelligence. He had since been promoted to the rank of Lieutenant Colonel and was stationed in East City with Winry, who he had married several years ago.

"Hey, Al," Edward said. "What's up, I haven't heard from you in forever."

"Just calling to check in," Alphonse said cheerfully. "Winry is asking after you, wanting to know when you'll next be in East City for your regular automail maintenance."

"Oh, uh," Edward stalled, sitting back in his chair. "I'm not entirely sure. We're in the middle of the State Alchemist exams, and I'm completely up to my ears in fucking paperwork."

"I know," Alphonse said sagely. "You got a lot of applicants this year, again."

"Not as many as last year," Edward murmured. It was true, there were some tensions with Drachma earlier that year that Major-General Armstrong somehow managed to defuse by sheer force of will. All the same, Amestris's relations with Drachma were strained at best, currently, and those smart enough to watch the news out of the acting-Fuhrer's office knew that now was NOT the time to be trading a research stipend and a title for military service. "Not as many passed the initial exam this year, either."

"That's because you rewrote the test again, brother."

"It was too easy and you know it. All those stupid idiots out in our country with titles and they don't know their heads from their asses - don't you start fucking laughing, either, I have to clean up the shit they transmute themselves into!"

Alphonse tried to restrain his amusement at Edward's indignation and mostly succeeded. "Not everyone can be a child prodigy like you were."

"Shut up," Edward sulked. "Besides, you're far more clever with alchemy than I am, I just don't know when to quit."

"No argument there," Alphonse was silent on the line for a moment. "I did notice that there were a few teenagers who took the test again, and passed."

"What?" Edward sat up in his chair. "Fuck, not again, kids don't fucking need to be messing with the military at their age-" he swiveled toward his desk, phone cradled on his shoulder as he searched for the folder. "Wait. How do you even know already which applicants PASSED? I haven't even finished going through the files-" the thought occurred to him while he was talking. "Sheska."

"Sheska," Alphonse confirmed triumphantly.

"I am going to send your human wiretap back to you," Edward groused, knowing full well that Hawkeye would never allow it. Sheska was her assistant, not Edward's - although Alphonse clearly had coerced her into reporting back to him.

"Yeah, yeah," Alphonse smiled through the line. He didn't need to be present for Edward to hear the gloat in his voice. "So when ARE you coming to East City?"

Edward almost opened his mouth to retort that if Winry was THAT concerned with his automail, she could come to Central City to do the maintenance HERE - but he remembered in the nick of time that Winry couldn't ride the trains. Being pregnant apparently made her extremely motion sick.

Alphonse chuckled at the pause. "She's not as bad as last time, promise," he said cheerfully. "Plus, she's got Thomas to take her mind off of how miserable she feels."

Edward exhaled and smiled despite himself. "How is the brat, anyway?"

"Taking apart everything he can fit a screwdriver into," Alphonse said with a sigh. "Including my chair before dinner last night. He's not even two years old yet, our family is NEVER going to be normal, is it, brother?"

"Normal is relative," Edward said, strangely realistic. "Your kid's a genius and no, he is not allowed anywhere near my automail."

"I'll let you explain that one to Winry, I'm staying out of it," Alphonse said. "By the way," he said, and paused.

Edward frowned at the phone. "Al?"

"Winry's worried about you," Alphonse said softly. "It's been five years, maybe it's time-"

Five years.

"Well, she shouldn't worry," Edward said brusquely, cutting Alphonse off mid-sentence. "I'm completely fine, Al, you know that as well as anyone."

There was a pause, almost too long on the other end of the phone. "She worries," Alphonse said finally. "Dammit, brother, _I_ worry. When was the last time you went out with someone - and no, the guys for beer doesn't count."

Edward - who had opened his mouth to retort just that - closed it. "I'm too busy to worry about that," he muttered sullenly. "More important things to do."

"Ed," Alphonse said, and Edward sighed audibly. He could always tell when Alphonse was being serious, out came his proper name instead of "brother."

"Al, I'm okay, all right? I promise. I've just got too much going on right now, really, Hawkeye can attest to all the work I've been trying to skip out of lately. You can stop badgering me about it, it's fucking creepy. I'll look around when I'm ready."

"Winry will take a wrench to you if she finds out you're lying to me."

"First, stop using your wife as a threat. Second, Winry will take a wrench to me if I sneeze funny, so I've built up a thick skull as a survival mechanism."

Alphonse busted out laughing at that. "Yeah," Edward muttered as Alphonse continued to guffaw. "I bet she's never hit YOU with a damned wrench."

"No," Alphonse said, still laughing. "Not with a WRENCH."

"You probably shouldn't continue that sentence on a military line," Edward murmured. "I mean, _I_ don't care, but I'm sure that the people who listen in on this line would love the sordid details of your married life, lieutenant colonel."

Alphonse was silent for a moment, then he laughed again. "You really sound like him sometimes, you know."

Edward smiled, swiveling in his chair to face out the large window in his office. It gave him a wonderful view of the parade grounds from where he was at. "I'll take that as a compliment."

"And brother?"

"Hm?"

"Visit SOON."

Edward gave the receiver a puzzled look as he heard Alphonse disconnect on the other end. It didn't sound as if there was anything to worry about where Winry was concerned, except for her being exceptionally cranky as the new baby's due date approached. Alphonse really didn't give any indication as to what was going on when there was something going on, he just tried to get Edward out of town.

Everyone had learned fairly early on that they didn't TELL Edward when something untoward was going on - mostly because Edward was still the Fullmetal Alchemist through and through and would jump into the middle of any bit of political intrigue or terrorist plot feet first and fists swinging.

If it was Alphonse trying to get him out of town and not Hawkeye, that meant physical trouble, not political. Edward drummed the fingers of his automail hand on the desk as he thought a moment, then lifted the receiver again and waited for the switchboard operator to come on the line.

"Operator," the melodic female voice said pleasantly. "Where shall I direct your call?"

"Colonel Neuhaus," Edward said. There was a pause on the line, then it clicked once while the call transferred through the base.

The telephone clicked again, as a gruff voice picked up the other end. "Colonel Neuhaus."

"Colonel," Edward said smoothly, a false smile in his voice. "How wonderful to catch you, sir..."

* * *

><p>Rian Martin had been in the city itself for just under two weeks now, long enough enough to get his foot in the door to take the State Alchemist exams. At first he had lied about his age on the application, but when he realized that the military was letting a pair of fifteen-year old twins take the initial examination he let that particular crafty plan lapse. It wasn't like he was a child, he was almost seventeen, after all - just too young to flat-out enlist.<p>

Central City was claustrophobic to him. In his whole life he'd only been to some of the smaller cities between the capital and his small home village of Plainhill, after all, he was a country boy at heart. He loathed this place, the smell of the city, the way the lights blanked out the entire canvas of the night sky, the bustle of people and the noise of traffic on the street. He hated it all. Of course, the largest chunk of his hatred was reserved for the fact that there were soldiers _everywhere._ That unique blue uniform was around every corner. It was really a good thing that he'd managed to break his habit of blanching and running every time he saw one.

Rian despised the military. It was the Amestrian military who had destroyed the small village he had been born in; it was the Amestrian military that had burned the crops and the fields and it was the Amestrian military that had killed his family. For a very long time he had carried that hatred of the military in his gut, burning like a low, wicked flame.

He had come to Central City with a very important, very detailed plan – and he was going to do everything possible to see this plan to fruition, no matter the cost.

It seemed kind of silly then, in the grand scheme of things, to be sitting in the main branch of the Central Library system studying … when if all went according to plan then this time next week whatever was left of him would be lying on a mortuary slab somewhere. He felt like he should be out there somewhere living it up, like all the other State Alchemist candidates … not studying the alchemy he already knew in somber silence in a dark library.

There was comfort in the library, though. The volumes of archaic alchemy lore that he knew better than fairy tales had always been there for him and would remain unchanged into the future. He was surrounded by those tomes now, and this library had far more for him to devour, to while the time away until his interview.

However, this particular volume that he was perusing now was beginning to wear on his patience. It was talking about the infeasibility of using regular, constrained transmutation circles to control weather. Weather alchemy – alchemy that put all of its eggs into the basket of air – was all but hopeless to attempt to control it. There were few "air" specialty alchemists; not like there were fire and water and earth and metal specialties.

Air was a vitriolic, temperamental elemental – unattainable and impossible to master completely. It was formless and omnipresent, and most transmutation related to air alchemy was not even perceptible. It required a great attention to detail as the smallest mistake in calculation could result in an explosion.

Which, all things considered, was Rian's favorite part of the alchemy anyway.

Rian was walking the books he had been reading back to the front desk, stewing quietly about how he'd never actually obtain a "cool alchemist title" and wondering what sort of title he would have been awarded when he walked straight into someone else.

That someone else was reading a book and walking at the same time, despite a librarian running after him, trying to caution him to be careful, since the library was so much busier than usual thanks to all the State Alchemist candidates running around.

Rian ran smack into him - or maybe he ran into Rian; in the resulting confusion the fault of the matter had been lost to the ages.

All that was certain was the blunt edge of a book caught Rian in the forehead. Rian flailed back, dropped the very heavy books that he was carrying on the blackguard's foot, got a yelp AND a flail for his troubles; and then the person who had hit him in the forehead with a book had the unmitigated gall to hoist him up by the front of his shirt and yell, "Watch the hell where you're going!"

The first instinct Rian had was to kick; years of tussling with a sibling larger than he taught him to go for the kneecap or just below it. However, the toe of his boot struck metal hard enough to send a jolt up Rian's leg. Stunned, Rian hung limply for a moment.

"Colonel!" one of the librarians admonished.

The man glared at Rian, who had resumed struggling, then looked to the librarian. "Sorry, I-"

"Out," the librarian said. "Both of you, out of my library!"

"Hey now," the military officer said indignantly. "I was just-"

"I don't even want to hear it," the librarian said. "I want you both out of my library before you pick another fight, Colonel Elric."

And that was how Rian found himself shoved out of the public library and out into the bright daylight of early afternoon. He blinked in confusion, looked at the now-scowling military officer, and then at the large heavy wooden doors as they closed firmly behind them. "I didn't even DO anything yet," the man yelled at the doors in disgust, then turned his ire on Rian. "You."

Fight or flight kicked in, and Rian turned to dash up the street. The colonel was faster than he was and caught Rian by the back of his jacket, and Rian yelped. Dangerous amber eyes glinted at him when he glanced over his shoulder in trepidation.

Rian whimpered.

* * *

><p>When Edward returned to the office, Havoc was the only one in residence. He was leaning out the open third-floor window, catching a quick smoke without having to run down to the canteen. Edward paused in the open door to the office. "Havoc, what the hell are you doing?"<p>

Havoc was staring off into space, cigarette dangling from his fingers. He was a thousand miles away, and Edward's return startled him enough that he nearly dropped his cigarette. "Boss! You're back early." Havoc eyed Edward, clearly not expecting him. "I thought you went to the library."

"I did," Edward said stiffly.

"Ah. I think this is the first time you've come back without Captain Hawkeye dragging you," he observed.

"Har har," Edward said darkly. "There was an incident. I'm not allowed back today."

Havoc extinguished his cigarette on the metal sill, then brushed the ash out the window. "Was this an incident with a capital I, or just an incident?"

Edward's glares were pretty solid today, Havoc held up both of his hands. "Hey, just asking before Captain Hawkeye does."

"No," Edward said. "Just an incident. No paperwork need be filed, there's no one in the brig or the morgue." He unsnapped the front of his military jacket and turned to head into his office. "Yet."

Havoc raised an eyebrow, then walked to the open office door. "You okay, boss?"

Edward threw his military jacket onto the back of his desk chair and was standing at the window with a frown on his face. "What makes you think I'm not okay?"

"You mean aside from the fact that you're back early from lunch, back early from the library without having to be dragged like a child, and clearly upset without breaking things?"

Edward's shoulders stiffened, and his eyes narrowed at Havoc. "There is nothing _wrong_, first lieutenant," he said. "You're dismissed."

Havoc looked at Edward quietly for a moment. Like Hawkeye, he had known Edward from the first time he reported to the military command all those years ago. Then, without another word, he closed the office door and left Edward alone with whatever was bothering him.

He had turned back to the window already. Edward stared out at the parade grounds. They were bustling with activity; a garrison was practicing their drills. However, Edward wasn't seeing the grouped blue uniforms working on parade formation. His mind was locked on slate gray eyes, narrowed in anger.

_Why did he look so much like him?_

It had been like a physical punch to the gut. Edward had let the kid go outside the library - he hadn't expected to see those eyes ever again.

Lost in thought, Edward seated himself at the desk. The folders from this afternoon's State Alchemist interviews were sitting on his desk, waiting for him to peruse. That should take his mind off of things. He had five of the interviews today - a reasonable amount, for once. Edward opened the folder and sat back, reading over the information about the first applicant.

* * *

><p>"You," Fletcher said as he stopped beside the sole occupant of the booth in the darkest corner of the dimly lit bar. "Are a son of a bitch, you know that?"<p>

"Hey now," Russell said. "Don't talk about mom like that."

Fletcher scowled at his brother, but slid into the booth opposite him. Russell had clearly been there a while; although the signature blue uniform was nowhere in sight. He was wearing a dingy old off-white button-down shirt and even older looking trousers. "So what's with the distinct lack of grooming?" Fletcher asked, as Russell waved down a barmaid.

"What do you drink now?" Russell asked him, ignoring Fletcher's pointed question.

Fletcher stared levelly at his brother as the barmaid approached the booth. "Ale," he said after a long moment. Russell raised his tankard and tapped it. "And another one of these," he said with a grin, ignoring his brother's sour look.

Once the barmaid was out of earshot, Fletcher leaned forward. "You better have a damn good explanation for what the hell is going on," he hissed. "Or else I'm on the next train back to Aquaroya _tomorrow_, brother."

Russell waved his hand in the air. "Relax," he said languidly. "We're here to have a good time, y'know?" As he lifted his tankard into the air to take a drink, he said quickly, in a lower, more sober-sounding voice, "We're being watched."

Fletcher blinked at the abrupt shift in his brother's tone, and glanced around the dimly-lit bar. It was half-full of murmuring patrons, and too hard to see if anyone was paying them any special attention. Russell dropping the tankard to the table loudly brought his attention back to him, and Fletcher blinked owlishly at him. "Are you trying to get us caught?" Russell asked sharply.

"What?"

"I say 'we're being watched' and you start gawking at the patrons like it's a zoo," Russell said with a snort. "Maybe this wasn't such a good idea after all."

Fletcher rubbed the side of his head with his fingers as the barmaid swung by, leaving two full tankards of ale on the table for them. "Don't think," Russell said in a bit of a sing-song voice, winking at the woman as she swept past. "We're supposed to be two quarreling brothers having a bit of a reunion, after all."

"We ARE two quarreling brothers," Fletcher said, drawing his tankard of ale in toward him and staring down at the liquid sloshing about in the stein. "You better have a good explanation for all this, you know I'm not joking about getting back on the train, right? Ari didn't even want me to come."

"Why did you, then?"

"You're still my brother, no matter how much we disagree," Fletcher said after a moment. "Besides, if you're going to do something stupid, well. Someone's got to watch your back."

Russell grinned and raised his tankard. "There's the Fletcher I know."

Fletcher sighed, and raised his tankard as well, so the metal steins clinked together. "Now you better start cluing me in as to what sort of stupid shit we're neck-deep in now."

"All in good time," Russell said. "I promise."

"I'm holding you to that," Fletcher murmured, taking a large swig of his drink. "Does this place serve food too, or just beer? I've been in the library all day, and I'm _starving._"

They shot the shit for several hours. At first it was a bit awkward, strange silences stretching between them for a moment between topics, but as the evening wore on and the drinks dwindled, things started to seem like they used to. Fletcher fished out his wallet to show his brother pictures of Arianne. "There is no way," Russell said, holding the picture at length and shutting one eye. "There is no way someone as smoking hot as her is interested in my dweeby little brother."

"Believe it," Fletcher said, plucking the picture out of his brother's hand. It had been taken by a friend's daughter at a summer picnic. He slid it back into his wallet after looking at it just a moment, a smile on his face.

"Heh," Russell said. "Never thought I'd see the day when my baby brother's in love."

"Shut up," Fletcher said. "What, you don't have a girlfriend?"

Russell shrugged. "I don't like being tied down," he said. "I've only been stationed out of Central City a few months. I was in East City before I got reassigned to the General's command." He leaned back in his seat and looked out into the bar. In the intervening hours, the bar had started to fill up as men and women got off of work. "Remember Alphonse Elric?"

Fletcher raised an eyebrow. "Yeah, of course I do," he said cautiously.

"Heh." Russell picked up his almost-empty tankard. "He's got a kid, you know."

"No way," Fletcher said. "Isn't he, like, your age?"

"Yeah." Russell was silent a moment, then smiled. "They left."

Fletcher glanced back out over the crowd. "You sure?"

"Mostly. Let's get out of here just in case."

The night air was cool, the sun having long since set. Fletcher stood out on the street while Russell settled their tab, hands in the pockets of his pants as he looked about. The city seemed so different ... and yet, oddly the same.

It had been long years since he had been in Central City. So much had happened since the last time he was here. Maybe it wasn't the city that changed as much as it was him.

Then, across the street, Fletcher saw ... her. She was walking with a few other Drachmians, one of which had his interview today. Their eyes met from across the street for just an instant, and then Fletcher nearly jumped as Russell touched his shoulder. "Hey," Russell said. "You all right?"

The spell broken, Fletcher glance back up the street, but they'd already rounded the corner. The message was clear, though. He looked over to his brother and gave Russell an uneven grin. "Yeah," he said. "Sorry, I was just ... thinking."

Russell gave him a considering look. His older brother was not nearly as oblivious to the world as he used to be, and that much was obvious. He could also clearly tell when he was being lied to.

"Yeah," Russell said. "You do that a lot, huh?"

"Yup," Fletcher said. He turned fully to face his brother, who he was a good few inches taller than now. "So, are you going to give me an idea as to what's going on, or do I just get to flounder around like an idiot?"

Russell inclined his head. "We'll walk and talk."

* * *

><p>It was not entirely uncommon for Edward to pull late shifts, although the voluntary nature of that work could occasionally be called into question. The soldiers dismissed throughout the day - Cushler and Bailey, the most junior officers in the unit leaving first. Havoc would usually stay as late as Edward did to act as his chauffeur, but occasionally he had other things to do. Hawkeye too would stay late to supervise his work and, Edward often suspected, to keep an eye on him.<p>

However, when Edward returned to the office he found it cold and dark. The interviews had run long, which he should have expected. Three of the candidates couldn't find their asses with both hands, and he was completely disgusted that they were able to coast as far as they could on sheer luck alone. He would have to see about revising that test yet again.

Of course, he couldn't just summarily dismiss them with General Howard sitting at his shoulder, breathing down his neck and looking for something entirely different than what Edward was fishing for. Edward was looking for competent alchemists that would serve as a boon to the country and possibly the military; not unbalanced idiots whose messes he would be serving as clean-up crew for.

Howard, on the other hand - a dark-eyed, calculating man who Edward wouldn't trust as far as he could throw him - he was looking for canon fodder. He didn't care how quickly the alchemist burned out as long as there was destructive power there. Out of the five candidates there was only one that the both of them had agreed was not State Alchemist material - Howard had challenged his decision by trying to pull rank on him over the other two.

If this decision went before the acting-Fuhrer, there was no telling which way he would skew. Dalton famously disliked Edward, but he didn't outright hate him. In fact, there might even be grudging respect there - Dalton was no enemy, but he certainly wasn't an ally, either. Letting this, the _first round_ of State Alchemist interviews, end up on his desk wouldn't look good for Edward.

Although he really wanted to drag his feet about it, there were still days of this left. Howard was probably testing the waters and seeing how Edward would react to the challenge to his authority. As much as it galled him to do so, especially given the qualification level of the two alchemists in question, he passed them. Four passes, one person packing. There was still the practical examination, they weren't IN, yet - but the interview was the toughest hurdle to face.

Now Edward really needed to _punch_ something, and he couldn't punch Howard. He was frustrated and had nothing to take it out on - he would prowl the streets looking for miscreants who deserved a good beating, but his M.O. was too well known at this point, plus Hawkeye would kill him. And it wouldn't do for a Colonel supervising the examinations to get hauled into the brig for drunken brawling again.

So that left him with little to do but paperwork. It was times like this he really missed having Alphonse around - he could always count on calling Alphonse up for some late-night sparring to work out his aggravations.

Edward returned to the office to get some work done and page through the applicants for the next day's interviews. And that was where he found himself as the clock on the wall chimed the late hour, single desk lamp on as he signed off on some of Bailey's meticulously typed reports.

There was a light rap on the open office door. Edward shuffled the paper into its appropriate folder before looking up, and then looked surprised at his visitor. "What are you doing here so late, Sheska?"

The mousy brown-haired woman held a pile of books in her arms. "I fell asleep behind my desk," she admitted, her hair in disarray and her glasses skewed. "I saw the light on as I was headed home. Why are YOU here so late, Ed?"

Sheska was one of the few people who never addressed Edward with his rank. She was an old enough friend that he didn't bat an eye at it. He was just fortunate that this habit hadn't rubbed off on Cushler or Bailey - he had a hard enough time as it was getting respect around here with HIS history.

"Just getting some work done," Edward said with a sigh, dropping the pen back into the inkwell and rubbing his temple with the same hand. "It's a busy time of the year for me."

"Oh, I _know_," Sheska chirped, far too bright-eyed for the time of night. "That's why Al sent me to help you guys out, Captain Hawkeye is SO inundated with paperwork it's amazing! All your normal work and then these exams on top of it, I'm surprised they don't send you extra workers for this time of the year."

"With the military's budget? I'm shocked we have as many people as we do," Edward muttered. He looked up at the clock and winced, he would have to be back in the office in less than six hours. No point to going home now, at any rate.

As if she had read his mind, Sheska frowned at him. "Are you sleeping in your office?"

Edward affected an innocent look. "I don't know what you're talking about," he said. He leaned forward to pick up the phone's receiver. "Do you need me to call you a car to take you back to the dorms, Sheska?"

Sheska shifted the books in her arms to wave a hand in the air. "No, no," she said. "Don't make a fuss over me, I can get there on my own."

Edward looked down at the paperwork on his desk thoughtfully, then back up at Sheska. "I'll walk you, then."

"Ed," Sheska said. "You don't have to do that, I'm a grown woman, I can walk a couple of blocks to the military dorm all by myself."

"I insist," Edward said. "There are a lot of people in town right now." He stood up and stretched his arms over his head, then scratched the top of his head. "I could use the fresh air, anyway."

Sheska closed her eyes and sighed dramatically, then opened them in surprise as Edward took the books out of her arms. "These going home with you as well?"

"No," she said. "Well, yes. I was going to drop them off at the library, but I fell asleep, so that has to wait until the morning." She tried to take them back from Edward. "Give them, Ed!"

"I can drop them off," Edward said.

"The library is _closed_," Sheska retorted.

Edward just looked at her.

She sighed, aggravated. "I know for a fact that no librarian in her right mind would give you a key, but I'm going to pretend I don't know how you plan on returning the books to a _closed_ library. You are planning to return them, right? They're checked out under my name-"

"Yes, yes," Edward laughed. "I promise, I'm not going to take home-" he looked down at the book on the top of the stack. " 'The Kingdom of Slender Swords' - what is this?"

Sheska grabbed the top book from the stack and her face flushed. "It's nothing," she said quickly. "It's just fiction, Ed, nothing that would interest _you_-"

"What makes you think I wouldn't be interested in fiction?" Edward queried, somewhat amused, as he locked his office door behind him.

"You," Sheska said. "You were talking about how stupid it was with Lieutenant Havoc one day."

Edward frowned as he tried to recall that particular conversation. "Oh," he said. "Yeah, I guess that sounds bad, huh? But I've read fiction that I liked, before, I swear."

"Oh yeah," Sheska said. "Name me _one_ fiction book you've read."

"I used to read the Timothy Quick dime store novels on trains all the time," Edward said. "Al and I would swap'em."

"You and Al read Timothy Quick books?" Sheska laughed. "I shouldn't be surprised by that, those are the ones with the genius alchemist kid, right?"

"Yeah," Edward muttered. "Stopped readin' 'em after the adventures suddenly got too familiar. I wanted to go visit the author and have a few words about it, but Al told me to let it go."

Sheska blinked. "They were based on you?"

"Some of the later ones had to be. But they were being published way before I started turning up in newspapers, so I dunno." Edward shrugged. "It could have all been a big coincidence like Al was trying to convince me of. I read those silly books to pass the time, not remind myself of things I didn't want to remember."

They had reached the steps down to the parade ground by that point. Edward blinked at the cool night air and caught a bit of a chill as he realized he was just wearing the thin long-sleeved button-down, his military jacket was still on the back of the desk chair. Sheska had started chattering about some of the companion book series to those silly dime store novels, those about a brilliant girl detective that she apparently loved as a child.

The streets were mostly deserted at this hour. It didn't take them long to arrive at the military dorms, where Sheska laid the fantasy novel she had been carrying atop the stack of books Edward still had. "Thanks so much for walking me back, Ed," she said, looking more at the books in his arms than at him. "Guess I'll see you tomorrow?"

"Yeah," Edward said. "Have a good night, Sheska." She looked up at him, a peculiar expression on her face, then disappeared into the coed barracks. Edward watched her go a second, then shuffled the books in his arm. "And off to the library I go," he muttered to himself.

* * *

><p>It was simple work to transmute the heavy wooden doors; instead of messing with the lock Edward just transmuted a smaller door inside the locked frame. He ducked his head as he stepped through, then walked the books over to the library desk, laying them on the check-in return.<p>

The library was as silent as a tomb this time of night. Very little light filtered in through the dirty windows, the entire building smelled musty and old, and without the bustle of people, it was quietly terrifying. Edward stood a second at the desk and took in the atmosphere. There was nothing in the dark here to scare him, he did not believe in ghosts and ghouls - the things that he had fought in his life were far more terrifying.

Weird that he should run across Sheska like this. Edward transmuted the door back to solid - no one had yet been able to tell that he'd done this particular pony trick several times. The only time he was nearly caught was the one time he had taken a flashlight to find the book he needed.

Trotting down the steps and back to the street the confrontation from earlier flashed through his mind. The kid's instinctive flail, Edward catching his shoulder, then their eyes locked and that stone-cold feeling as his stomach dropped away. He had taken Edward's hesitation as a chance to escape up the street and away, and leaving Edward on the sidewalk with an empty feeling he thought he had completely buried.

The more he thought about it, the more that kid looked just like Roy, until the point he didn't see the teenager any longer, just a younger Roy, eyes narrowed in anger, hair mussed, jaw set - and the thought of it hurt more than any wound he'd lived through.

Edward stopped on the sidewalk and closed his eyes, trying to force the thought out of his head, shoving his hands in the pockets of his blue trousers as he thought. He was so focused on this task that he nearly missed the sound of feet on concrete until it was nearly upon him.

His eyes snapped open, and Edward glanced over his shoulder as three teenage hoodlums ran up to him. They were all wearing collared shirts and trousers, and two were wearing old waistcoats. All had scarves and hats to conceal their identity, and jack knives. Edward glanced over them in disbelief. "You have got to be kidding," he said. "You idiots are really going to try to mug _me_?" He gestured at the knives in their hands. "With _those_ toys?"

The leader nodded, not coerced by Edward into speaking as his compatriots spread out a bit. Edward rolled his eyes heavenward, somewhere between thankful and put-out by the distraction. Then he grinned sharply at the hoodlums. "Well, it's your funeral," he said with a shrug, then clapped his hands.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

Oranges and reds thrown across the sky like spilled paint. The warped, rough wood of the crates he was leaning against. Dried blood on his leg, pain in dull throbs up to his hip. Roy, beside him, a comfortable presence, passing the canteen. Tired gray eyes, but still a small smile reserved for him alone.

"Be careful, Ed."

* * *

><p>Edward woke with a snuffle, too warm. The sun was beating down on his shoulders, amplified by the thick glass of his office. Edward's cheek rested on the grate of his automail forearm, and he sighed against it, before he realized he was sleeping sitting at his desk, in his office, and the <em>sun was up.<em>

He sat up quickly, scattering the pages of the report he had been reading when he'd thought to rest his eyes a bit hours before. Several pages stuck together and Edward wiped his mouth furiously while glancing at the clock, horrified. It was already a quarter after nine, why hadn't Hawkeye come in to rouse him in her usual direct way? Edward glanced down at the papers cast all over the desk and some fluttering still to the floor beside his feet.

"Good morning," Russell Tringham said, from where he was seated on one of the couches that sat across from each other in front of Edward's desk. He had his boots on the coffee table, and was flipping through a packet of papers.

Edward blinked at Russell, looked down at his desk, and then back up again. "What the hell are you doin' here?"

Russell flipped another page over in the packet, eyes skimming the information. "You requested this from Colonel Neuhaus," he said. "I was wondering why."

...requested from Colonel Neuhaus...? Edward propped his elbow on the desk, fingers in his hair - he wasn't awake enough for this, where was Hawkeye when he _needed_ her? "That should have been sealed," Edward said.

Russell held up the torn envelope.

"That's sensitive material. I could have you court-martialed."

Finally Russell looked up at Edward, with an expression that distinctly said "I'd love to see you try."

Edward sighed and closed his eyes, cool metal fingertips pressed into his hairline. "What do you want, Russell?"

Russell flipped the packet closed and tucked it back into the envelope. "Well, I want to know what you've got on Neuhaus that he'll jump to your requests like clockwork," he said philosophically. "But I know you won't give that up, so." He stood up and walked over to Edward's desk, tossing the torn envelope on top of Edward's stack of folders. "Just thought I'd stop by and say hi."

Edward opened his eyes and glared daggers at Russell, who returned the glower. "What did you find out, Major Tringham?"

"Keep an eye on the Drachmians," Russell said after a pause. "They're up to something."

"That's it?" Edward said. "I could have told you _that_, do you really not have anything worthwhile?"

"Nope," Russell said cheerfully. "I just wanted to snoop through your mail, Colonel Elric."

"You know," Edward said. "I could have you taken out back and shot, I bet no one would bat an eye."

Russell's expression didn't change a whit. "You wouldn't do that."

"Wouldn't I?"

"Nope," Russell said. "You'd want to do it yourself." He waved a hand over his shoulder as he let himself out of the Edward's office, leaving the door ajar behind him. Edward glowered at the door, then picked up the torn envelope as Hawkeye opened the door fully.

"Glad to see you've joined us this morning, Colonel Elric," she said, her expression neutral but eyes very dangerous.

Edward pointed the envelope at her. "If you wanted me working earlier you could have woken me," he said, accusatory. "Instead of letting HIM in here."

"He had official business," Hawkeye said, picking up the pile of folders balance precariously at the edge of the desk. "Besides. I was too busy dealing with the military police first thing this morning. There were several members of a local gang found transmuted into a cage made out of a lamppost."

"Really," Edward said. Hawkeye gave him a Look, and Edward found shuffling his papers a little more interesting.

Havoc swung in the room, carrying a mug of coffee. "Hey, boss," he said cheerfully. "Nice work on the-" he faltered when he saw Hawkeye, who raised an eyebrow at Havoc. "...heard you walked Sheska home?" he offered weakly.

Edward raised an eyebrow at Havoc, who deposited the mug of coffee on Edward's desk and didn't linger, escaping out of the office quickly. "The next time you feel like you need to take out your frustration on anything, there _is_ a gym on base," Hawkeye said simply. "You don't have any meetings before noon, Ed. Go home and get a shower."

He looked at her in surprise, but she had already dismissed herself, crossing the room. Edward picked up the torn envelope and tapped it against his flesh palm a moment, thinking hard. The coffee that Havoc had left him was just as he liked it, too strong and black as night. Maybe he _was_ stretching himself too thin. As soon as the State Alchemist exams were done and over with, he'd take a vacation. Go see Al, get his automail maintenance out of the way. He deserved at least that much.

Decisively, Edward stood up, scooping his jacket off the back of the desk chair and shrugging it on. Wouldn't do to seem too improper, even if it was a Friday. He tucked the envelope under his arm and freed his ponytail from the collar, and then he too headed out the door.

* * *

><p>Fletcher had slept in, stretched face-down on the too-small single bed, covers kicked to the floor. The thin, military-issue blinds did little to stop the bright sunlight from rousing him. Grumbling, he rolled out of bed and staggered down the hall to the communal bathrooms.<p>

It was late enough in the morning that the initial rush for the too few, small box showers was over. He was able to nab the furthest one from the door, the one that had the best water pressure so he could get a quick shave in with his shower. Feeling more awake now, he dressed quickly and headed out.

The city was bright, sunshine streaming down from a cloudless blue sky. The sullen, pale gray day of yesterday was nowhere to be seen. Fletcher scratched his damp hair, then shaded his eyes as he looked around. His stomach grumbled a bit in protest, so the first order of business was going to be breakfast. Or rather, given the time, more of a brunch.

A dark-haired kid brushed past Fletcher, who was standing stationary on the stairs. He leaped the last few stairs, stumbling in his hurry, but he shot off down the street. Fletcher watched him run curiously, but then shrugged his shoulders. Teenagers.

The cafe was right where he guessed it would be. It was a warm morning, warmer than yesterday, so Fletcher elected to sit at one of the small tables outside, enjoying the sunlight. Russell had given him a rundown the night before as they walked around the town into the later hours of the night. Staggering about like a couple of drunkards didn't make them memorable, he hoped.

This whole thing was some sort of sting operation. There were suspected terrorists in the mixed group of candidates. Surprisingly, it wasn't the Ishbalans they were worried about - it was the Drachmians. Fletcher hadn't been following the news closely, but he knew that tensions with the northern country were at the worst they'd been in years.

Interesting, then, that the sole female Drachmian taking the exam came to him, wasn't it?

Fletcher sipped his coffee and pondered, watching the pedestrian traffic. Russell hadn't been entirely forthcoming with all the details; Fletcher suspected he wasn't allowed to be. This wasn't Russell's operation, he was just another weapon in probably a vast fleet of agents. The thought amused him somewhat - Russell _had_ changed, it seemed. Good for him. Maybe once this mess was over he'd actually keep in contact with his older brother.

But what he really didn't understand was if there was a suspected terrorist cell within a group taking examinations to join the military, why they didn't just halt the exams. This country was not exactly known for its subtlety.

Of course, that was under a different administration.

Fletcher was so lost in his thoughts he almost didn't notice that someone had seated themselves opposite him until they cleared their throat. He looked up guilty, and an eyebrow raised in surprised. "Ioana!"

The dark-haired Drachmian woman smiled at him. "Good morning," she said, her accent even less today than it had been in the past. "I've been practicing my Amestrian. Better, yes?"

He nodded and returned her smile. "Definitely better, I can tell."

"Good, good." She waved down the waiter and ordered herself a drink while Fletcher watched her. She had her long, dark hair loose today, and it fell in soft waves down past her shoulders. "My interview is this afternoon," she told him, her attention back to Fletcher.

"Same as mine," Fletcher said, surprised. "I heard only one person didn't pass the examination yesterday."

She nodded her head. "The gentleman from Aeruga," she said. "With the, the hair," she illustrated in the air with her hand. Fletcher knew exactly who she was talking about, the alchemist in question had dyed his hair a fair shade of blue "to remind him of the waters," he had said breathlessly in his strange accent. Amestris was a landlocked nation; Aeruga was famed for its beaches and the ocean it bordered.

It was no surprise he'd failed, Fletcher was fairly sure he'd been copying off the person in front of him in the first written examination. "Are you worried?" he asked Ioana.

"A leetle," she said, her accent slipping through. "I heard that the interviewer is quite tough." She accepted her drink from the waiter and took some napkins as well.

"I'm sure you'll be fine," Fletcher murmured.

"You're not nervous?" She looked at him in surprise. Fletcher shook his head, a smile playing on his face.

"Not at all. If my brother can pass it, I shouldn't have any difficulties." The written test had been the hardest step - his brother was a better alchemist when it came down to the theoretical, but Fletcher was the diplomat and the people person. He was confident enough in his abilities for the practical examination, the interview in his mind was just a formality.

"You are quite confident, I see," she stirred her drink with her spoon. "I am worried that all that will be seen is my nationality."

"You do seem awfully chummy with the other Drachmian candidates," Fletcher said.

"It is, easier." Her eyes were dark brown, the same color as her drink. "When you share a common language, even if your ... ideals are not the same. Tell me, Fletcher. What do you think of your military, your government?"

"That's a strange question to ask," Fletcher said carefully.

"It is just different," she murmured. "Freedoms exist here that I did not grow up with. I was to be sold in a marriage to a man twice my age just so my parents could eat for the month." She nodded to the sidewalk, where several soldiers were passing in a small contingent, laughing among themselves. "This is a military state and yet it is by far a more peaceful place than my homeland ever was."

Fletcher smiled at her, his hands on his coffee cup. "Then I hope that you'll be happy here," he said.

"Da," she said. "I believe I will be."

* * *

><p>Rian ran down the street haphazardly, scarf streaming out behind him like a tail. Of all the things that was going on right now, getting a <em>phone call<em> at the military dorms was not topping the list of his current expectations.

It was a sunny morning, almost too warm for his customary jacket and scarf, but he didn't have time to shed them. He had bolted out of the door of the dorm, forgetting both his wallet and his tiny leather notebook. He'd gotten halfway across town before he realized he didn't have any cash, and had to run _back_ to the dorm before retracing his route.

He had been up early. Sleep wasn't coming to him easy, his interview was tomorrow and he was staying awake out of sheer agitation. He'd gone over the plan, his backup plan, and even a third auxiliary plan until he couldn't read his own handwriting any longer, and still yet he couldn't sleep. He'd laid awake on top of the covers, counting the cracked ceiling tiles until the pale light of dawn crept under the half-closed blinds.

And then, he got a phone call.

Rian arrived, nearly wheezing, at the train station. He pressed one hand against a support beam and tried to catch his breath. The train was still sitting in the station as it boarded passengers headed to its next destination. It was a Friday morning so it wasn't possibly as crowded as it would be on the weekend, but there was still a healthy crush of people. Rian looked up and scanned the crowd.

"Yo," a voice said from behind him.

He started, then turned and scowled up at Anthony Hargrove. "What the FUCK are you doing here?" Rian shouted - or rather, tried to, as he inhaled he choked and started coughing. Anthony leaned over and started whacking his back to help try to clean his pipes.

After a minute or so of this, Rian managed to croak out his exclamation. Anthony grinned at him. "I'm going to go to school here," he said. "When I heard the State Alchemist exams were this week, well - you were studying pretty hard before you took off. Wasn't hard to put two and two together, bro."

"School?" Rian said weakly. "Who else knows about the exams?"

"Just me, don't worry," Anthony said. "Do you need a drink?"

Rian nodded his head as his plans, carefully constructed, evaporated right before his eyes.

The diner they found was just down the street from the train station and was crowded with people, presumably mostly from the train that had just let off. Anthony had a single suitcase that he carried tossed over his shoulder carelessly. He must have gotten even taller in the time Rian had been gone, because he barely came up to his adopted brother's shoulder.

He gulped down water in the diner as Anthony hollered at someone he recognized from the train ride from the countryside. They squeezed into a small booth with Anthony's new friends, a young couple who was trying to find their fortune in the big city. Rian felt small and young - even with Anthony being his own age, he felt dwarfed beside him.

The couple - John and Mary - were bright and cheerful, and were amazed to hear that someone as young as Rian was in the midst of the State Alchemist exams. He demonstrated his alchemy for them, scribbling a small array on a napkin and stirring up enough wind that it blew off the bonnet of the woman sitting at the table next to them. Mary laughed wildly at this, even as the woman stormed out of the diner.

John confessed that he had tried some alchemy, but wasn't particularly good at it. Anthony showed them the transmutation that Rian had taught him, caught his napkin on fire and nearly the edge of his shirt before John had to lean over and dump his water out over the small flame.

At that point, they were asked to leave the diner.

They bid farewell to the young couple, wished them luck, and bought their lunch instead from a street vendor. Anthony leaned against the stone wall behind the vendor while Rian hiked himself up on it to sit, and they ate their sandwiches.

It was, Rian realized suddenly, the most fun he'd had in a long time.

"So at that point," Anthony said. "I realized that hell, if a runt like you can strike out on his own and make something of himself, why can't I?"

Rian punched Anthony in the shoulder. "I'm not a runt," he said. "Xingians hit their growth spurts notoriously late."

"You keep telling yourself that," Anthony teased him. "So I've decided I'm going to enlist."

Rian's expression fell, quickly. "You're going to join the military?"

"Well, maybe." Anthony waved his hand in the air. "I mean, I kinda would want to be a police officer, not active military, but you have to enroll in the military academy either way."

"But if we go to war, you could be conscripted."

Anthony sighed, and crumpled the paper his sandwich had come wrapped in. "I know. That's the biggest risk, and I don't think mom would be able to stand it if I went off to war." They both looked out quietly to the sidewalk, watching the people stop at the sandwich vendor. Rian knew that story; how his adoptive mother had seen her brother off at the train station because her parents had disowned him, and then how she had been the one to receive him when he returned home in a casket.

"However," Anthony said. "YOU'RE joining the military."

Rian kicked his heel off the stone wall. "It's complicated, Tony."

"It always is, with you." Anthony hiked himself up onto the wall beside Rian. "So," he said. "You gonna tell me what's up with this whole State Alchemist thing, or what?"

Or what, indeed. Rian didn't meet his adopted brother's look, staring straight ahead. He couldn't tell Anthony. Anthony understood a lot about him, but he couldn't just tell him that he was planning to die just the very next day. He'd never understand that. He'd try to stop him any way possible, and Rian couldn't let him do that. He instead summoned a smile up from somewhere and grinned at his brother. "I'm just trying to find my way," he said. "Honoring my mom - my birth mom's heritage and make a living helping people."

Anthony made an "uh huh" noise like he didn't quite believe Rian, but that was okay. He only didn't have to suspect the truth for a few more days. Rian was insanely glad that his adoptive family wasn't forceful about making him give up his family name - that way when Anthony tried to enlist their relation wouldn't be turned up.

Except - "Wait a minute," Rian said. "You're seventeen, same as me. You're not gonna be ABLE to enlist until next year."

"That's the thing about small towns," Anthony said. "They don't keep very precise birth records." He grinned at Rian. "What, you think a little thing like that is gonna keep me from making it on my own? I'd at least thought THAT far ahead, squirt."

"I am NOT a squirt," Rian shoved at his adopted brother with both hands, and Anthony laughed. Rian scowled at him and glanced back out at the street, in time to see a familiar face crossing through pedestrian traffic opposite them. Rian froze for a split second, then scrambled off the stone wall and behind it, using his brother as a human shield.

"What the hell?" Anthony said, twisting and trying to see Rian, who was crouched. "What has gotten IN to you?"

"Nothing," Rian said. "Nothing at all, just dropped a wrapper, don't want to be a litterbug is all."

"Uh-huh," Anthony said. "Who are you hiding from?"

"Military uniform, blond ponytail."

Anthony scanned up and down the street. "I see him, he's gone the other direction. What did you DO to him?"

"Me, I didn't do nothin'," Rian grumbled, popping out of his crouch and folding his arms on the wall, resting his chin on them. "He's the one who started it."

_"Sure."_

"You don't have to believe me, just be my human shield," Rian said. "So, where are you staying?"

* * *

><p>Edward shucked his jacket off, throwing it in the direction of the couch, before collapsing into the overstuffed arm chair beside the fireplace. He took a deep breath, exhaled slow and sank back into his favorite chair. No stiff-backed desk chair this, he could sleep (and had) in this monstrosity.<p>

He still had the envelope clutched in his automail hand. He looked at the torn open manilla envelope, and then pulled the packet of papers out. Sunlight slotted through his blinds, dust thick in the air.

He had never asked Colonel Neuhaus to send anything over.

The packet was full of information about all the Drachmian candidates - where they came from, their ages, as much personal information that could have been gathered. Some had fully detailed personal histories, others were largely blank. It was as much information that could be pulled, from an undercover agent living deep in Drachma itself. Edward didn't know too much of the particulars of the agent, he wasn't in Intelligence, but they had done good work.

Russell had thoughtfully written some notes in the margins, his own thoughts on the candidates in particular - some useful, others classic Russell being an ass. He let Russell do his own thing, though, because he was damn good at it. He was not necessarily deep undercover material, but he made a decent enough spy.

There was definitely something going on here. Edward was relieved that acting-Fuhrer Dalton had decided to sit the actual interviews out this year - but that didn't mean that they were safe. Now the question was, did they want to continue the interviews as if nothing had happened, or did they want to collar these people now and sort out the mess later? Edward closed the packet and tossed it on his coffee table.

The Drachmians could be an independent terrorist cell. Or they could be spies, sent through to test and gauge the strengths and weaknesses of the Amestrian army. They could even just be people escaping the oppressive regime of a differing government and not up to anything at all. They were all equally possible in the long run. He'd have to take a gamble, but first he wanted to talk to Alphonse about it.

And he couldn't do it from here. His military would have bugged his home phone as well as the phone in his office. Edward sighed, then slowly got up out of the arm chair. First, a shower.

* * *

><p>Alphonse Elric was writing out a report quickly as people rushed around him. The office he worked in in East City was large, hectic, and always noisy. He'd learned to tune it all out though, and focus on what was immediately in front of him - occasionally to his detriment, if someone was trying to get his attention. As someone was trying to do, right now.<p>

Fortunately, his staff was as used to this as anyone. Second Lieutenant Colleen Griffith was usually the most direct about it - she simply whapped him in the head with the folders she had in her arms.

"Hey, ow!" Alphonse said, and looked up, one hand flying to the back of his head tenderly.

"Suck it up, I barely swatted you," Colleen said. "Phone, lieutenant colonel."

"Oh?" Alphonse looked at the phone on his desk. It hadn't rung once since he sat down today - he belatedly remembered that because of the deadlines he had unplugged it from the wall. "Oh."

"Use Fuery's phone," she said. "He's out working on the radio lines that got pulled down when that car overturned last week." She nodded to Kain Fuery's empty desk, and Alphonse stood up from his desk chair.

"Thanks, lieutenant," he said, then hesitated. "It's not my wife, is it?"

She shook her head. "No sir."

"Hm," Alphonse said.

He picked up the heavy phone from the desk and carried it to the windows - there was no way to truly make a conversation private in this office, but with his back to the room most would know not to bother him. "Lieutenant Colonel Elric," he said, as he picked up the receiver.

"Hey, Al," his brother said. "I have a question for you."

"Brother," Alphonse said carefully. "I am at work."

"I know. You guys keep your lines swept clean though, right?"

"Daily." There was strange background noise coming down the line from Edward's side of the conversation. "Where are YOU?"

"Bar." Edward hesitated a moment. "So, that whole trying to get to me to come to East City thing, was that about the Drachma terrorist plot?"

"...dammit, Ed."

"You're not my only Intelligence resource, you know." Edward said smugly. "So were you going to ever let me know what you knew, or what?"

"I wasn't sure of anything, I'm still not." Alphonse leaned his arm against the glass window and then his forehead against his arm. "This could get really bad really fast, brother."

"I figured. We've got most of the Drachmian candidates scheduled for tomorrow for interviews, just one today. I'm just not sure if we should go on with the interviews or not, all the reports are conflicting."

"If you need my help I can hop on a train and be there by tonight," Alphonse offered after a moment's thought.

"Idiot, you need to be there, isn't Winry getting ready to pop any day now? Besides." There was a momentary hitch on the line and then Edward's voice reappeared. "Damn fucking waste of money eating my cenz like that." He sighed. "I'm not cut out for this Intelligence shit, Al."

"You're better at it than you think," Alphonse murmured. "Look, this can go south pretty fast. It's not like Central City is that far away, it's only a quarter day's travel by train, I can get there tonight and take the train back tomorrow-"

"No, Al. If I need your help I'll call you."

Alphonse let that hang in the air a second. "Ed," he said. "You called me _now._"

"Shut up, I'm just trying to talk out what I need to do." Another moment of silence, then, "Look, my time's about to run out, we'll talk later, okay?" The line disconnected before Alphonse could say anything else.

He looked at the receiver in silence a long moment before setting it back on the phone, and walking the phone back to Fuery's desk.

Then he made a decision, grabbing his military jacket off of the back of his desk chair. Colleen had come back by his desk. "Where are you off to?"

"I'm cutting out early," Alphonse said. "You're in charge."

"You forget that just about everyone here outranks me, Lieutenant Colonel."

"No," Alphonse said. "I don't. I'll see you in a few days, Lieutenant."

* * *

><p>It was a mistake to have called Alphonse, Edward realized an hour or so later. Freshly showered and shaved, he had stopped by his favorite out-of-the-way, ask-no-questions pub to eat a brief lunch and shoot the shit, and eventually use the pay phone in the back of the bar. It didn't have a booth to it, so it was risky, but there was no one lingering on that side of the bar this time of the day, and the bartender minded his own business.<p>

That taken care of, and with a full stomach, Edward put in an appearance back at the office for Hawkeye's sake. There was a fair bit of paperwork piled on his desk, but a brief glance at it showed nothing too pressing to work on - and that made him hesitate. The re-certification of existing State Alchemists had been the preceding week, and while that time was pretty hectic the tests were pretty much pass or fail. Edward had delegated that responsibility out, mostly because it was the time of the year when the idiots came out to play in full force. For the most part, Edward had steered the re-certification process away from "so, what have you accomplished with your title?" Just a test to re-certify, and quarterly status reports. That had taken some doing, as the military was fond of its human weapons, but nobody wanted another Tucker chimera incident.

Nothing jumped out at him from the reports. The majority of what he dealt with in a usual week were alchemists trying to play god with animals again and chimera getting out of hand. There was the occasional alchemist who sold out, or defected - but those were pretty rare, which was a pity. Edward didn't have as much occasion to get out in the field and hand out a solid thrashing like he used to. Nothing was pressing here, just a few autopsy reports from two idiot alchemists who thought they could be the ones to break the human transmutation taboo and a necropsy of a wild chimera found roaming the forests on the outside of the city.

It was just Cushler and Havoc in the office when Edward emerged. He looked toward Hawkeye's empty desk, puzzled as Cushler sat up quickly, boots that had been resting on top of his desk thumping to the ground loudly. The noise caught Edward's attention - Cushler was sitting up and attempting to look productive, but Havoc was having none of it, still sitting with his feet up on the desk and unlit cigarette clamped in his teeth. Edward looked between them. "Where's Hawkeye?"

"She an' Sheska went to lunch, boss," Havoc said. "You came back a bit early, I don't think she was expecting that." He flashed a thumbs-up to Edward. "Nice work on that, it's hard as hell to surprise her."

"Mm," Edward said, not caring in the slightest. He tapped his automail on the lip of Hawkeye's desk as he thought. "I only have the one meeting this afternoon, and I'm the highest-ranked officer there."

Cushler looked at Havoc, who was watching Edward, eyebrows raised. "Thinking of canceling, boss?"

"It's not that necessary," Edward said. "I've got a fuck-ton of those State Alchemist interviews this afternoon and evening, we only did _five_ yesterday." He scowled. "If I have to sit next to General Howard another five minutes I might have to set him on fire." Edward realized after a second that Cushler was staring at him, slightly agog. "Something the matter, corporal?"

"Oh, uh," Cushler said. "No sir."

Edward exhaled in exasperation, then looked to Havoc for support. "He's still scared of me, isn't he?"

"You did threaten to feed them both to that nasty bull/crocodile chimera we found a year or so ago," Havoc reminded Edward mildly.

"For fuck's sake," Edward said to Cushler. "How long have you been in this command? Be more scared of Hawkeye, she'll shoot you first before I get to you anyway." He hiked a thumb at the desk behind him. "Besides, she's closer to you guys. At least I have a door between me and instant death."

Edward looked between Havoc and Cushler a moment, then sighed. "She's right behind me again, isn't she?"

Hawkeye, who had come in the open door behind Edward, dropped a box she had been carrying onto her desk. Edward only winced a little at the noise, and finally looked over his shoulder and offered a slightly sheepish grin.

Sheska was lingering in the doorway, caught his eye and grinned back, before Hawkeye looked up. "Sheska, I need the records pulled that we were talking about before the end of the day, please."

"Oh, um," Sheska said. "Yes ma'am, right away." She ducked out the door quickly.

Edward scratched the side of his nose. "Hey," he said, feeling oddly like he was asking permission instead of giving orders. "I need to have that meeting from this afternoon rescheduled to sometime next week."

Hawkeye looked up at Edward, eyes calculating. "I'll see what I can do," she said after a moment, then seated herself at her desk. Edward cast a glance over his shoulder at Havoc, who shrugged, and then Edward looked to Cushler, who was studiously staring at his desk as if staring at the empty desk would magically sprout new paperwork.

"For fuck's sake," Edward said. "Where's your other half, corporal?"

"Bailey's out of town," Havoc answered for him. "Remember, boss? You sent him checking up on that strange chimera sighting toward the North."

Edward blinked, he had just signed off on the order yesterday, Hawkeye had probably selected Bailey for the mission, she knew the sergeant better than he did. "That tears it. Havoc, Red Lion pub tonight, bring this one." He pointed at Cushler. Then he glanced over his shoulder at Hawkeye. "Want to join us this week, Hawkeye?"

"Far be it from me to want to break up your boy's club," Hawkeye murmured, flipping several pages in the old bound book of records and making notations on the paper she had beside it. "Perhaps you should ask Sheska, Ed?"

"Good idea, where'd she go?" Edward stopped. "I don't really have time to go look for her right now, if she pokes her head in again someone invite her."

"Dunno boss," Havoc said. "Maybe you should ask her."

"If I see her," Edward said.

"What are you up to that you need the afternoon off?" Havoc said, finally dropping his boots off his desk.

"Espionage stuff," Edward said. "I should be in Intelligence, they could use someone sneaky like me." He pointed at Havoc. "If you laugh I'll break your nose, Havoc."

When he glanced back to Hawkeye she was smiling as she copied down her notes. "Also," he said. "If any of you see Alphonse, you have my permission to drag his recalcitrant ass to the train station and put him on the first train back to East City." He waved a hand in the air and ducked out of the office, leaving Havoc giving Hawkeye a confused look behind him.

* * *

><p>After breakfast, Fletcher parted ways with Ioana. She mentioned something about a study group with the other Drachmian candidates, and while that might have been worthwhile Fletcher's Drachmian was shit. So he turned her down, and took the time to stroll around the city.<p>

He knew, really, that he should have gone with her. He needed to meet some of the other candidates - the bulk of the interviews would complete on Saturday, and the practical examinations would begin next week. Fletcher really needed to decide what he'd do for his practical on top of all this. He made a note to talk with Russell just to make sure he didn't duplicate his older brother.

Eventually Fletcher found himself at a small book shoppe. Always, if he wasn't thinking about it, his feet would lead him to a bookseller. It seemed encoded in his genes. Fletcher shrugged his shoulders and pushed the door open.

The tiny bell tinkled, alerting the shopkeeper to his entrance. Fletcher smiled at the tiny elderly woman, who sat perched on a stool, a cat nearly as large as she spread out on the counter before her, purring.

There didn't seem to be anyone else perusing the ancient book stacks. It was a used book store, full of antique manuscripts and ancient codexes - shifting towers of dusty books, with sunlight streaming through the stacks, let in through huge old paned windows. It was the sort of store he could lose hours in. He wandered toward the back end, finding several old treatises on the basics of plant alchemy and the precision of soil mixture and immersed himself in the words, turning the brittle yellow pages carefully.

He stood by one of the windows, panes blurred with dust. At first, Fletcher wasn't paying attention to the low murmur of traffic outside - there was another cafe adjacent to the store, without outdoor seating - until he recognized a familiar accent to the voice speaking. He looked up, out the window - it was hard to see, but he thought he recognized Ioana from the curves. It certainly sounded like her, a mixture of heavily accented Amestrian and native Drachmian.

The replies, however, came in his own native language, with brisk military precision. Ioana was talking to a military officer.

Then a third voice joined the conversation, in thick Drachmian. Fletcher knew he shouldn't eavesdrop, but also remembered his brother's warnings about the Drachmians in the candidate mix. Fletcher leaned forward and looked to the old lady sitting behind the counter - she seemed to be drowsing in the early afternoon sunlight, so he flipped the catch of the window and carefully pulled the window in, wincing as it squeaked slightly in complaint.

The voices were clearer now. "-and three bombs." That was Ioana. "Can you guarantee his presence?"

"The acting-Fuhrer is skittish." The officer. Fletcher didn't recognize his voice, and he could not risk peeking out the window. "He did not attend yesterday's interviews, and the rumor is he won't be at today's either."

The man with the thickest accent spoke, and for a moment Fletcher couldn't tell if it was Drachmian or Amestrian, until the officer responded. "No," the man said. "No backup. If he's not at today's interviews, we will complete the plan regardless tomorrow. Even without his death, the assassination attempt will throw the country into enough chaos that they'll be looking for enemies around every corner."

"Be careful what you speak aloud, Jakob," Ioana's voice was clear now. Fletcher could see her slightly, and he nearly ducked when she turned her head to look about. "There are ears everywhere."

Fletcher had heard enough. He reached out to close the open window, but hesitated when he thought about the noise the old frame had made when he opened it. He put the book down that he had been holding and made his way to the front of the store, ignoring the sleeping shopkeeper as he ducked out the door-

-only to be confronted by a broad-shouldered, dark-haired man that Fletcher recognized from the dorms ... a Drachmian. He stood taller than Fletcher, his coarse hair nearly brushing the top of the shop's door frame.

"Uh," Fletcher said. "Excuse me-"

The man reached to grab Fletcher's shoulder, and Fletcher backpedaled, right into a display of haphazardly piled books. They crashed to the floor and he caught Fletcher, yanking him forward. The shopkeeper's cat had shot up at the crash and fled the scene, racing toward the back of the store.

"Hey!" Fletcher yelled as he was manhandled out the door. The Drachmian outweighed him by at least fifty pounds and he had a solid grip on Fletcher's shoulder, steering him the way he wanted him to go. "Hey, let me go you creep!"

Once outside, and no longer in the narrow confines of the store it gave Fletcher more room to move. He'd never been formally trained in any sort of fighting, but he had grown up alone with an older brother who oscillated between mothering him and wrestling with him. Fletcher twisted, this time breaking free of the one-handed grip the larger man had on him.

He could stay and fight, or he could run like hell. The man was huge, there way no WAY Fletcher was sticking around to try and fight _that_. He instead ducked forward and made to bolt.

But then the man caught him by the back of the jacket. Fletcher flailed as he was yanked off balance and tried to regain his footing. There was nothing good for him to get a grip on as the large man gripped his shoulder again tightly. Fletcher locked up as the large Drachmian man grinned at him unpleasantly. "Think we should have a little discussion, yes?"

His impossibly thick accent gave him away as the third member of the conspirators that met outside the book seller's. Fletcher tried to yank his head away but the man turned him and steered him toward the outdoor cafe. Ioana was standing at the low black metal fence that separated the patio from the sidewalk. She watched the man prod him forward dispassionately, and Fletcher narrowed his eyes at her. "I don't know what your game is," Fletcher said, "but you're an idiot to try it."

"Release him," Ioana said to the man holding Fletcher. "We're in public, Maks."

"No," the man said, his grip on Fletcher tightening. He said something sharp to Ioana in Drachmian, and an angry flush rose to her face.

"I said-" she started, and Maks yanked Fletcher back.

"Collateral," he said calmly, and for a split-second Fletcher thought that Ioana looked sorry for him. He tried to twist in Maks' grip, and as he turned his head, he saw the huge fist heading toward him before he could move further.

* * *

><p>Edward returned to the base only just in time as several of the interviewees milled around in the waiting area outside the main room. Edward managed to ignore them - and very few of them gave him a second look as he passed. He was looking for Hawkeye, but instead found Sheska manning the desk.<p>

She was doing about three things at the same time and moving quickly into the realm of overwhelmed; trying to sign-in the interviewees, answering questions and, spotting Edward, immediately stuttering to a halt mid-sentence. He gave her a peculiar look as she tried to find her place again and finish answering the man's sentence.

The other alchemist signed in, Sheska shooed them away from her desk and sighed in relief. "Where have you _been_?" she asked Edward. "General Howard has been at my desk every five minutes wanting to know where you were."

"General Howard can-" Edward started to say, but Sheska grabbed his jacket and tugged it. Edward looked at her, surprised, as she straightened it, and just then Edward realized the door out of his vision had opened.

"Colonel Elric," General Howard's voice was deep and threatening. "I'm glad you could join us today."

Edward bit the inside of his cheek to keep from retorting as he'd liked. "Sorry to inconvenience you," he said instead, waiting just long enough for Howard to start to stew as he added on the, "sir."

Sheska gave him a look that Hawkeye had to have taught her, and handed him the folders she'd had on her desk. She looked over her list and frowned before handing it to him as well. "Two no-shows," she told him. "What do you want me to do if they turn up late?"

"Tell them to wait," Edward said. "If I still feel like it after this circus is done for the night we'll take'em late, otherwise they can sit next year." He tucked the folders under his arm and headed for the door where General Howard stood, glowering at him. That was strange, yesterday Howard had already seated himself at the table, jockeying for the center spot despite Edward's job leading the interview.

"Oh," Sheska said. "I almost forgot, the acting-Fuhrer sent his replacement."

"His replacement?" Edward repeated as Howard stepped aside to allow Edward entrance into the meeting room. The room was set up exactly the same as yesterday, a long table for them to sit at and a single chair in the center of the room specifically designed to throw the alchemists off guard and make them nervous.

There was someone already in the center chair, the one that Edward had decided was his seat (and the one that he had childishly and silently fought with Howard over yesterday). A single ice-blue eye flicked up to meet his entrance, the other hidden behind a sheet of cold blonde hair.

"Fullmetal," Major-General Olivier Mira Armstrong said. "You're late."

"Aw, _fuck_," Edward said illustratively, as Howard closed the door behind them.

* * *

><p>It was long after dark by the time the last of the alchemists was dismissed, tail tucked firmly between his legs. Edward was used to having one glowering presence on one side attempting to intimidate the prospective State Alchemists - but Major General Armstrong was a terrifying force all of her own.<p>

Fortunately, she at least bowed to Edward's superior knowledge of the candidate's alchemical skills, and rarely asked questions directly to them. Howard, on the other hand, grilled the subjects so mercilessly that Edward wondered if he got off on it.

Some promising candidates in the batch, and Edward wanted to see the practical demonstration of their skills. A few duds, but Howard didn't try to pull rank on him in order to bully in the candidates that he liked despite their lack of useful attributes to the military. That was probably due to Major-General Armstrong's presence. Howard was as afraid of her as Edward was - and despite the fact that Edward was not entirely pleased to see her there he knew that he could tentatively consider her an ally.

Howard she would squash under the heel of her boot given half the chance.

And as much as Edward would enjoy throwing Howard into Armstrong's direct path, right now that would just create more work for him overall.

Of course, Armstrong's presence here was odd. He'd had no warning whatsoever that she was in town; Major-General Armstrong held court in the north, keeping strong the border between Amestris and Drachma. If she had planned for a trip to Central City, somewhere along the line someone would have given Edward a heads-up. He'd had to grill Havoc about that later.

But now he was freed. The interviews took place in a designated area off-base - it was an older building annexed to, unsurprisingly, the library. It was the old hall of records, renovated to their purposes when the newer storage facilities were built. Edward waited, of course - Major-General Armstrong left first, her car driven by the half-Ishbalan soldier Miles. Edward tossed a wave off to him, but Miles simply gave him a brief salute. General Howard stood around talking to two of the candidates that Edward had failed - and Sheska lingered still at the desk, deeply engrossed in her chosen book.

Edward couldn't eavesdrop on Howard's conversation without being completely obvious, so instead he leaned against the desk Sheska was seated at, put both hands on the desk and stood on his tip-toes, trying to read the book pages upside-down. However deeply engrossed Sheska was, the fact that he was blocking out her light made her look up in irritation, and she squeaked in surprise at Edward's proximity. "Oh my gosh, are you guys done alrea- what TIME is it?"

"Late," Edward said. "What are you still doing here?" Sheska looked at the book in her hands, and then back up at Edward. Edward snorted. "Look, some of the guys and I were going to meet up at the Red Lion tonight, want to join us?"

Sheska blinked at Edward. "Go.. out? To a pub?"

"Yeah." Edward straightened a bit, glanced over his shoulder at Howard, who was still chatting amiably away. "Maybe get some work done, too," he murmured.

To his surprise, Sheska nearly leaped out of her seat. "I'd love to, Ed," she said. "When? Now? I mean, I'm in my uniform still-"

Edward paused in his scrutiny of Howard, then looked back at Sheska in confusion. "We're all gonna be in our uniforms," he said. "It's a military bar, Sheska..."

"Oh," she said, still grinning from ear to ear. "Are we going now? I'll fetch my coat!" She left her book abandoned on the desk and bolted off, leaving a bewildered Edward in her wake. He scratched the top of his head and sighed, and looked toward the exit again.

The two failed recruits were gone, leaving just Howard watching Edward with cold, calculating eyes. Edward stiffened under the gaze, locking eyes with Howard and refusing to give an inch of ground. After a long, silent moment, Howard broke off the contest with a snort, glancing back to the door. "The military prohibits fraternization," was all Howard said, as his driver opened the door and stuck his head in the room.

Edward didn't respond, watched Howard leave with narrowed eyes. Sheska returned then, pulling on a long, light brown coat. "Ed, what's wrong?" she asked at his expression.

He shook it off, forced a smile for Sheska. "Nothing," he said. "Thanks for helping out tonight, you've been great."

Sheska smiled almost shyly back. "I'm thinking about putting in for a permanent transfer to Central City," she told him. "I like it here."

"Well if you do, let me know," Edward said. "Or, probably Hawkeye. She loves having you around as an assistant, we can always use the spare hands."

Sheska beamed as Edward held the door open for her. Last out of the building, Edward locked the door behind them, and they started down the street toward the pub, The Red Lion.

The Red Lion was a fairly popular hang-out, with its location not too far from base. It was a known military bar - the blue uniform was so ubiquitous that if you WEREN'T in some form of one you stood out. There was some protocol there - officers ignored their soldiers and vice versa; if the military jacket with the epaulets was off military etiquette was ignored. It wasn't a haunt that was frequented often by the upper echelon of the military, on a usual night Ed might be one of the highest ranked officers there.

He held the door for Sheska, who looked a little unsure of this, but entered warily. Edward steered her toward the usual corner, where Havoc sat slumped in a booth, his face a picture of complete rejection. Cushler, who had been sitting across from Havoc, jumped up and looked like he was about to salute when he saw Edward, and Edward gave him a dirty look so he stopped.

"It's so cute how your subordinates are afraid of you," Sheska laughed as Cushler forced Havoc inwards so they could slide into the booth across from them. "I don't even think I want to know what you did to instill such fear."

"I'm not afraid of Colonel Elric," Cushler said defensively.

Edward arched an eyebrow and he shut his mouth so fast his teeth clicked together. Sheska and Edward laughed as Cushler looked furiously at the table.

"What happened to Havoc?" Edward asked Cushler. "Did the waitress reject his attempts at flirting again?"

"Worse," Cushler said. "She called him old."

"Oh, _burn_," Edward said. Sheska reached forward and patted Havoc's hand that was limply cradling his beer. "Sorry, man. Is this the same one, or a different one?"

"Different one, Colonel," the familiar waitress said, putting two more beers on the table. "Haven't seen you in a while."

"Been busy," Edward said. He glanced to Sheska. "I didn't even ask, do you drink beer?"

"I don't know," Sheska said, hesitantly taking one of the tankards. "Guess I'll find out?" She sniffed the booze delicately and took a small sip of it, grimacing only slightly.

"I think he's gone catatonic," Cushler said, nudging Havoc. "He's been like this all night."

"Leave him be, it'll be nice to have the silence," Edward said. "Usually once you get a beer or three into him he won't shut up."

"That's not very nice," Sheska said, shooting Edward a look. "I'm sure there's a nice girl out there for you somewhere, Havoc."

"Any idea when Bailey's gonna be back?" Edward asked Cushler while Sheska consoled Havoc. "It feels weird to only see one of you."

* * *

><p>Havoc came out of his "catatonic trance" thanks to Sheska nattering on about the latest series of fantasy novels she'd been reading between actually doing the work that she was getting paid for. Edward in turns listened to that, bitched about the inaccurate alchemy those novels tended to use, and then got into a long argument about the value of fantasy versus realism when it came to alchemy with Sheska. Cushler interjected a point, surprising both of them and Havoc laughed as the discussion then turned to the State Alchemist candidates. Havoc started describing one of the "smoking hot girls" he saw today with hand gestures.<p>

Edward leaned forward, smacking Havoc's head illustratively. As Havoc sulked, Cushler excused himself and they watched the soldier leave. "Well, he finally seems to be coming out of his shell a little," Edward said thoughtfully, chin in his hand.

Havoc scratched the side of his jaw. "Uh, boss?"

"Yeah?"

"Cushler likes you."

"Bullshit he does, he's fuckin' scared of me," Edward said, swilling the remainders of his booze in the bottom of his tankard. "Surprised he hasn't combusted from all the stammering he does."

Sheska giggled as Havoc sighed. "No, boss. He _likes_ you."

Edward looked at Sheska, then at Havoc. "What?"

"Like," Havoc waved his hands in the air. "God, I'm not having this discussion with _you_ boss, you tell him, Sheska!"

Sheska nodded her head and patted Edward's shoulder. "Cushler is sweet on you, Ed."

"Sweet on- wait, what, what the _fuck_-" He looked back to Havoc. "You're joking."

Havoc shook his head. "You'd have to be blind not to see it."

Elbow on the table, forehead in hand Edward groaned. "I do not need to be dealing with this right now."

"It's cute," Sheska said.

"Yeah," Havoc echoed. "Cute."

Edward gave them both a look. "My subordinate has a crush on me and you both call it cute," he said. "Wonderful." He looked at his woefully empty tankard and sighed. "Not enough booze for this."

"What's the matter with Cushler?" Havoc asked.

Edward opened his mouth and almost said it - _He's not Roy._ He realized that Havoc's eyes were unusually clear and sober and he snorted instead. "I'm getting another drink," he said, sliding out of the booth and heading for the bar, leaving Sheska and Havoc alone.

He really didn't need this right now. Edward wove around the packed crowd and made it up to the bar. It seemed like he was getting it from all sides now - although there was always the chance that Havoc was pulling one over on him. Which, the more he thought about it, the more likely it seemed. What better way to alleviate his own sorrows than to watch Edward make a dick of himself to his direct subordinate?

Edward glared over his shoulder at the booth, and Havoc waved cheerfully. Cushler had reappeared in Edward's absence. Edward sighed and waved down the bartender.

"You look like you're having fun," Russell Tringham said from directly to his left.

Edward glanced at Russell. "I was, until you showed up."

Russell shrugged. He was sitting at the bar, hands around his own tankard of ale. "That's my job, ruining all your fun," he said. "Had an interesting day, I take it?"

"So when were you going to tell me about Fletcher sitting for the State Alchemist exams?" Edward asked.

"Need to know information," Russell murmured.

"Well, I'm going to be taking it to "need to punch" levels soon," Edward returned. "And that's your only warning, by the way." He took the tankard back from the bartender, thanking him. "Fletcher didn't show."

"What?"

Russell actually looked surprised. That wasn't the response Edward was expecting. "What do you mean, Fletcher didn't show?"

"I mean," Edward said. "He was one of two no-shows for the interviews today. I don't know how to make that much clearer." He paused. "I didn't take Fletcher as the sort to skip out on important things like that."

Russell stood up, the noise of the bar stool sliding backwards lost in the general din of the pub. "He's not," Russell said.

Edward watched Russell nearly bolt out of the pub, a concerned frown on his face. Russell didn't rabbit often. He was still wearing his concerned face when he sat back down at the booth, to Cushler doing a spot-on impersonation of Hawkeye, to the eternal hilarity of Havoc and Sheska.

He wasn't good at hiding his discomfiture when even slightly inebriated, or perhaps Sheska was more apt to picking up on it. Either way, she was pretty much ready to call it a night, so Edward offered to walk her home. Havoc was well on his way to singing bar ballads at the top of his lungs, arm in arm with Cushler, who seemed to have shed his earlier nervousness. The beer probably helped with that.

Edward wasn't sure what time it was, and didn't bother to fish out his pocket watch to check. Sheska was quietly worried and covered that with incessant chatter about anything and everything that came to mind. Edward was grateful for her running dialogue because he didn't have to speak.

They made it to the military dorm that Sheska was staying at - the same one the State Alchemist candidates had taken over. There was a cluster of them standing outside smoking - most, Edward realized, had already failed the initial written exam and were waiting on friends to either pass or fail to catch the same train.

He caught Sheska looking at him oddly expectantly. "I had fun," Sheska said with a grin. Then she hugged him and trotted up the stairs and into the military dorm.

Edward stood on the sidewalk a little confused by this display, the alcohol still buzzing in the back of his mind. He realized that the smokers were watching him and shoved his hands in the pockets of his trousers before sauntering down the sidewalk and heading back toward the part of town where his flat was located. It had been an eventful night, and he'd barely had any rest. At least he'd sleep like a log before the all-day interviews on Saturday that would wrap up the second part of the State Alchemist examinations. With a stifled yawn, he made his way home.

* * *

><p>It had cooled off as the sun had set. Rian sat on that bench in the park and just watched the ducks, and the few people who walked by, until it got too late and he started getting looks. He didn't want to go back to the dorm and sleep, what purpose would that serve?<p>

What purpose did any of it serve, really?

He ambled about town, hands shoved in his pockets. He hadn't counted on Anthony showing up. His brother's abrupt appearance shouldn't have thrown a wrench in his plans and yet it had, shattering Rian's convictions in one fell blow. How was he supposed to head off to die tomorrow morning when he knew his brother was on base himself, preparing for the military academy? Would he be connected back to Anthony? Did he tell the recruiter he had a family member taking the examinations? Rian groaned and ran a hand through his hair, hesitating on the sidewalk.

It was a Friday night, the city was buzzing with activity. People were everywhere, in groups. Store fronts were open, bright with light. Bars and pubs with the doors flapping open, showing people happily carousing and greeting the weekend with shouts and laughter. Rian stalked past all of these, lost in his own little world.

He wanted Howard dead. He was certain of that, at least. And this interview was his best bet at it, his chance to get close to the man, get in close quarters when he was unguarded and kill him. Rian's plan was to make it as messy as possible, the less of him that was left the harder it would be to identify the purpose of the attack, as well as the harder it would be to identify _him._ But, but, _but._

Suddenly he wasn't sure that he could go through with it.

There had to be other ways to take his revenge. Howard had other weaknesses, other times that Rian could use against him. Hell, he'd even made a plan B just in case Howard decided at the last minute he wasn't going to sit in the interviews. But that contingency was in place because it was something Rian couldn't control.

What was he supposed to do if his resolve collapsed around his ears?

He found a stoop to sit on, and buried his head in his hands as his thoughts chased around in senseless circles. Why did stupid Anthony have to show up? Fuck, it ruined _everything_-

"Hey, you all right?"

Rian blinked, looked up. He looked around in confusion a moment - he had ended up across the street from the train station several blocks away from the main military base that dominated the center of the city - and he really wasn't sure how he'd ended up here.

A tall man in a tan trench coat and trilby had stopped in front of him. He had a suitcase slung over his shoulder and a newspaper tucked under his other arm.

"I'm fine," Rian responded. "Just ... thinking about how stupid brothers are."

The man snorted. "I could write a book." He gave Rian a considering look. "You sure you're all right?"

The look that the man was giving him was making Rian strangely uncomfortable. He shifted under the gaze. "I'm fine," he insisted, getting to his feet. "I have to go."

He could feel the stranger's eyes on him as he took off down the street at a steady trot. Rian shoved his hands into the pockets of his jacket - it might be early spring but it was still nippy at night - and sighed. He had no idea _what_ to do now. The sigh turned into a yawn, which surprised him.

Maybe that bed in the military dorm wasn't such a bad idea after all.

* * *

><p>Fletcher sneezed himself awake, dirt and dust getting up his nose. He was lying on his side in the most uncomfortable position, face pressed to the ground. He groaned, the sneezing that woke him served to catapult a raging headache to the forefront as he tried to figure out what had happened to him.<p>

The last time Fletcher had woken up like this, he and Russell had been on the bad end of a wronged throng of villagers who couldn't be easily placated by Russell's attempts at smooth talking. To Russell's credit at least the reason the villagers were enraged had nothing to do with his older brother's many con jobs - for once they had honestly walked into a mess that wasn't their doing - but they had been mobbed and thrown into a tiny jail to await a messy execution.

They had escaped handily, by transmuting some dummies to hide under the straw blankets and getting themselves out of the jail, but Fletcher remembered all too well that painful discombobulation of waking from mild-to-serious head trauma. The room was wobbling around the edges - fortunately for him it wasn't particularly well lit.

His shoulders were sore, and it quickly became apparent why - his wrists were tied together. He rubbed his wrists a minute, gauging the material to be thick cord or rope. It wasn't entirely coarse, but it was thick and tied so tightly there was no way he'd easily slip these knots. If his captors had used handcuffs he would have had a better chance at freeing himself.

Fletcher's cheek was pressed to the cold tile floor. It was dusty and dirty in here, but with the dim light there was no telling where he was. No windows, just some wan light that streamed in from under the door. Occasional shadows would pass in front of it - people, obviously. Wherever he was, it was busy.

He shifted his legs. They hadn't been bound, thankfully. He hurt all over, his head most of all. The Drachmians were all terrorists, all of them. Even Ioana. He closed his eyes guiltily, cheek still pressed against the tile. He knew Russell kinda suspected them but Russell really didn't have any solid proof to go on yet, or any idea when they were planning on acting. For all he knew, they were planning on doing something during the practical examinations, not now during the relatively boring interview process. He was the only one who knew what was going on, and he had to warn _somebody. _

Fletcher rolled onto his back. He still felt woozy, but he had no time for that. With some effort he maneuvered himself into a sitting position and stayed that way a while, waiting for the rushing sound to stop in his ears. Then up on his knees and staggering to his feet, barely able to keep his balance as he stumbled into shelves against a wall. There was a clatter and Fletcher heard various bric-a-brac hit the floor. He was in a supply closet of some kind.

The door would more than likely be locked - not that Fletcher was in any way capable of opening it with his hands bound like they were. He could always turn around and back against the door, fumble for the knob with his bound hands, but that would alert a lot of attention to the fact that he was up and about.

For the first time, Fletcher hesitated. Why was he still alive? The Drachmians were clearly about to pull off a terrorist plot that would end in death and destruction, so why not kill him and dump his body into the river? What benefit was there to keeping him alive?

He heard voices outside the door as they passed, conversing in loud tones. Neither was accented with Drachmian - they both spoke Amestrian with faint rural accents. Soldiers.

_What_ was going on?

* * *

><p>Edward hesitated on his doorstep a second, then opened the front door carefully, key in the lock. Something felt uncomfortable and off, and a freshly-honed danger sense overrode the faint buzz of alcohol nicely.<p>

He closed the door behind him carefully, automail leading, and turned the corner into the den from the small foyer.

Alphonse sat on the couch, bare feet on his coffee table, a large book open in his lap and a mug of coffee in his hand. "Took you long enough, brother."

Edward relaxed in the doorway. "Just make yourself at home, why don'tcha," he grumbled, then turned to kick his boots off in the foyer.

"Thanks, I will." Alphonse turned a page in the book. "There's coffee on in the kitchen. I wasn't quite sure where you'd end up, although I suppose it would have been awkward if you'd brought Sheska back here."

Edward paused, halfway into the kitchen. "Why would I bring Sheska back here?"

Alphonse raised an eyebrow. "Weren't you on a date?"

The look of abject horror that crossed Edward's face Alphonse found objectively hilarious. Edward sputtered a moment, and then his face actually turned a deep shade of crimson as everything came together. Alphonse stretched his arms over his head and closed his book. "You're just _now_ figuring this out? I think Hawkeye deserves your rank more than you, brother."

"I, she- WHAT IS GOING ON TONIGHT?" Edward shouted. Alphonse clapped his shoulder and moved him out of the space between the rooms, moving into the kitchen to pour his brother some much-needed coffee. "First Cushler, now SHESKA? Is there something in the water?"

"I keep telling you, you need to put yourse-" Alphonse paused. "Cushler?"

"My, one of the junior members of the garrison," Edward said, shoving stuff off of the chair at the small kitchen table and then collapsing in it, leaning back against the wall. "Apparently has developed some sort of infatuation with me per Havoc."

"I know who Cushler is, brother," Alphonse said. "Is Havoc fucking with you?"

"I haven't had time to check yet," Edward said. "Sheska likes me? Is this why you sent her suddenly to start working with Hawkeye, because if you are trying to set us up so help me I will break your nose, Alphonse."

Alphonse put the coffee cup in front of Edward's face and sighed. "Ed, do we have to do this right now? I'm not here to play matchmaker."

"Good, because I don't need your help. I'm fine by myself." He looked at the coffee cup in front of him and scowled.

"Yeah, you're doing wonderfully, living with a ghost."

"Hey, fuck you." Edward's tone was venomous.

"Brother," Alphonse said sharply. "Roy is dead. He's been dead for five years. You need to move on."

Edward started visibly at the words, and his face rearranged into a wordless snarl. Alphonse simply looked at his brother calmly, a little sadly as Edward sputtered. "Get out of my house, Al."

Alphonse said, very firmly and evenly, "No."

"Don't you - get out, I fucking mean it."

"The next train back to East City isn't until tomorrow evening, so I'm afraid you're stuck with me until then." Alphonse leaned back against the counter and crossed his arms, his posture the very definition of "make me." "Besides," Alphonse said. "I'm here until the end of the interviews. The practical examinations are going to be supervised by acting-Fuhrer Dalton and because of an inspection that just came up, have been moved a week and a half out. So, next train tomorrow evening you are coming with me back to East City because you are going to explain to Winry why I had to come all the way out here to kick your ass."

"I told you not to come," Edward said. "And it had nothing to do with me and every thing to do with this goddamn mess that's going on around the edges of everything." Edward waved his arms in the air illustratively. "Stupid, espionage and Intelligence and terrorists and Drachmians and I am fucking fed the fuck up with it _all_, I don't get paid enough to put up with all this shit-" Edward stopped mid-sentence and pointed at Alphonse. "An' you still need to get the fuck out."

"At least you've gotten to the point where you can juggle more on your one-track mind," Alphonse murmured. "I know it hurts you to hear it, brother, but Roy is dead and gone. Everyone else has accepted it. It's time you did too."

Edward snarled but it was without the same venom as earlier. He stared down into the coffee in his hands. "You put milk in this," he accused Alphonse instead.

Alphonse scruffed a hand in his hair and sighed.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

The heat of the tent is stifling. Occasionally a breeze will move the flap that cuts them off from the rest of the camp but it's like an oven. No cots for them, blankets spread out over the sand instead, despite Edward's protests about grit in his automail.

That's the furthest thing from his mind right now, palms on strong thighs, legs spread wide, back arched to the ground. They have to be quiet, no matter how noisy he wants to be they're in the middle of base camp. Roy had been smart, stuffed a rolled-up sleeve in his mouth for him to bite down on to stifle his groans.

Roy looked tired, fresh lines around his eyes, shadowed with lack of sleep and fatigue. Still, worn and dirty like this, Edward is smitten, feels like he could be burned alive by those smoldering dark eyes watching his every move like he would never see him again.

Bent over him, sweat dripping off his nose, a groan in his voice as he cupped Edward's face and turned it up to him. "I love you so much-"

* * *

><p>Edward was woken unceremoniously by Alphonse kicking him sharply. "If you're going to make noises like that, brother, you can go sleep on the couch," Alphonse said groggily from the other side of the bed.<p>

* * *

><p>Fletcher woke the second time at the blue flicker of transmutation. He hadn't been able to free his hands, or find anything workable for drawing a transmutation circle in order to get himself free, so after several hours of rifling through things by touch alone he had given up, exhaustion overwhelming him. He had fallen asleep leaning against the wall, legs crossed in front of him.<p>

The blue light of an alchemist's transmutation against the darkness was enough to rouse him from a light doze. The sudden muted burst of light confused him - why would someone use alchemy to work the lock, instead of using a key like everyone else? There were a lot of things here that didn't make sense, though, and Fletcher was starting to just go with it.

The door clicked open and bright light spilled in. He winced, eyes far too accustomed to the dim light of the storage closet, and the door clicked shut behind the figure before he could focus on them. Fletcher blinked away stars and waited, but the quick shot to the head that he figured would end this never came.

"I am sorry you got dragged into this," Ioana voice was soft in the darkness. "I did not expect you to overhear so much."

Her accent was lighter now, not so pronounced. Fletcher scoffed verbally. "Didn't expect me to get involved, huh?" he said. "I can't believe you're a terrorist, Ioana. I thought you came to this country to get away from this sort of shit!"

"You have no idea," she murmured quietly. "We need to get you out of here."

That was not the response he was expecting. "What?"

"Before they come back, Jakob and that accursed general," she said, stooping in front of him. Now that his eyes were adjusting back to the dim light, Fletcher could see that Ioana was dressed to move quickly and unobtrusively. She put a hand on his shoulder tentatively, but Fletcher didn't flinch, and allowed her to push him a bit aside so she could work at his bonds. A small knife slid from her sleeve and she used that to saw through the rope.

"Which general?" Fletcher thought to ask while she worked.

Ioana's eyes seemed to reflect the wan light like a cat's. She gave him an interested look. "It doesn't matter," she murmured. "You just need to get out of here, my dear Fletcher. Go back to your girlfriend and keep your head down."

"They know who I am," Fletcher said. "It won't be hard to find me. I have to know who is behind this, Ioana." The rope fell from his wrists and Fletcher brought them forward, rubbed them tenderly. "I have to be able to protect myself."

She smiled at him, a sad smile but a knowing one. "Men," she said. "Always wanting to be the big strong protectors. Did you ever stop to think that maybe we're trying to protect you?"

Fletcher gave her an odd look and she shook her head quickly. "Never mind. I promise I'll take care of this, this won't follow you back to Aquaroya."

"I can't just run away from this, whatever it is," Fletcher argued right back. "There are other people in danger here, what are they planning to do?"

Still crouched in front of him, she pulled a hand gun from the waistband of her pants and pressed it into his hands. "I promise," she murmured quietly. "I'll protect you, you just need to get out of here."

There was the sharp click of boots on tile outside the room and they both froze, but the foot steps did not slow and passed the door with no hesitation. they were still undiscovered. Ioana's attention was on the door and Fletcher captured her wrist. "Tell me what is going _on_," he hissed. "Why are you helping me?"

"Because you weren't supposed to get involved, why is that so hard for you stupid men to understand?" Ioana shoved his shoulder angrily, eyes flashing. "This was all supposed to go off with no hitch and you show up and throw everything all to hell, you understand how much you and your godforsaken brother have screwed things up for me?" Fletcher blinked and stared at her in surprise, but Ioana got to her feet. "I will get you out of here," she said. "We have to go now, though."

"Come on," she looked back at him, still seated on the floor against the wall, gun in one hand. Fletcher stood reluctantly, warily ... then presented the gun back to her. "I don't use guns," Fletcher said slowly. "I don't trust them. You have any chalk?"

She looked at him a long moment, then smiled, tucking the gun back into the waistband of her pants and fishing in a pocket, before handing Fletcher a broken piece of chalk. "A true alchemist," she said appreciatively. "Let's go."

* * *

><p>It was somewhere in that hazy time where late transitioned into early, before the sun started to rise, but after the birds had started to sing that the phone rang. Edward had his face buried in the space between pillow and mattress, and he snarled ineffectively at the ringing of the phone from the bed.<p>

Then, to his not-awake surprise, the mattress shifted and Alphonse rolled over, reaching blearily over Edward to fish the phone off the nightstand and answer it. "Elric."

Edward glowered up at Alphonse as his younger brother looked down at him in surprise, then held the phone out. "It's for you."

"I would hope so," Edward said blearily, taking the phone from Alphonse, who had a strange expression on his face. "'lo?"

"I don't even want to know why your brother is answering your bedroom phone at four in the morning," Russell said, sounding far too awake on the other end of the line.

"How do you know my phone's- wait, I don't even want to know," Edward said. "This better be damn fucking good, or I'm going to wring your tiny neck."

Alphonse, who was sitting up on the edge of the bed, gave Edward a look with one eyebrow raised, Edward made a face at Alphonse and rolled over so he couldn't see him.

"Well, I hope it's good enough for you, boss," Russell said. "The Drachmians are planning on taking the interviews hostage today."

Edward sat up. "And you're planning on stopping this, how?"

"I've got it under control," Russell said calmly. "I'm more worried about what will actually go down on the personnel front. There's only seven Drachmian candidates, and only four of them interview today. They've got to be planning something else, there's no way that they could think four passable alchemists and some firearms would be enough to take the entire building hostage. Especially knowing YOU would be there-"

Edward actually puffed up a little at that, it was rare that Russell would acknowledge Edward's superior skills even if the proof was right in front of them. He heard Russell snort on the other end of the line. "Don't get a big head, I'm mocking their Intelligence more than anything else."

"Yeah, yeah." Edward threw a pillow at Alphonse because Alphonse was staring at them intently. "As much as I hate to defer to you, this is your ballgame, Tringham. How do you want to proceed?"

He raised a finger at Alphonse and said, "if you even think it I'm going to transmute you into the bathtub and YOU can explain to your wife why you won't make it back in time for the birth of your child."

"We want them alive, brother," Alphonse said. "Make sure Russell knows that."

Edward held the receiver out toward his brother. "Do you want to talk to him?"

Alphonse shook his head. "I don't have clearance in this mission, this is all Central Command's doing."

"No, it's not," Edward said. "This is me an' Russell and about three other people. Central Intel has no idea what we're up to."

"We hope," Russell said on the other end of the line.

"Oh, I should have thought to ask, you did secure this line, right?" Edward asked Russell.

"I swept it for bugs when I got here," Alphonse said.

"You should be fine," Russell murmured.

"Wait, what do you mean, we "hope" Central Intel has no idea what we're up to?" Edward said sharply. "Sedition is a big word for "spending the rest of your natural life in a hole somewhere."

Alphonse snorted and Russell sighed. "Now you're just being paranoid."

"I'm being careful. I worked hard to get this far, I don't want to get my ass handed to me by YOUR faulty intel."

"I'll let you know if I find out that there's more to it," Russell promised. "As much as I want you to take a long walk off a short pier, you're useful to me in the position you're in."

"I dread the day you no longer find me useful," Edward said sardonically. "Oh wait. That'll be the day I let Hawkeye use you for target practice."

Russell hung up the phone on him, and Edward blew out a breath. He glanced over at Alphonse, who was giving him a considering look. "What?"

"You two fight like an old-"

"Fuck off and _die,_ Al."

* * *

><p>They got dressed quickly - there was no going back to sleep now, especially when Edward realized the origin of Alphonse's strange looks. "You thought I was Winry," Edward yelled from the bathroom as Alphonse shuffled around the kitchen looking for various food items that didn't look like an experiment in higher life forms.<p>

"You have a science experiment for an icebox," Alphonse yelled back. "Do you have anything in here its natural color?"

"Fuck off," Edward said for the third time in fifteen minutes as he walked into the kitchen. "If the phone didn't wake you was I going to get groped as a good morning? Because, Al, you're my baby brother and all but I would have had to kill you."

Alphonse held up a plate with cheese on it. "Brother, this has FUR."

They glared at each other for a long moment. Edward waved a hand at the fridge. "Just, dunno, transmute off the ick."

Alphonse looked completely horrified. "I know you have a stomach of cast iron, brother-"

Edward crossed his arms and glared defiantly at Alphonse. Alphonse sighed and dumped the cheese into the waste bin, plate and all. "It's no wonder you're having a hard time finding someone to date you," Alphonse muttered darkly. Edward ignored him and started some coffee.

"I don't eat here much," he said simply, rinsing out some old stained coffee mugs in the sink. "I usually eat at the office, or there's some kind of officer's dinner or the like. No real need to keep food in the icebox when it just goes bad."

Alphonse looked over at Edward a touch guilty. They both knew that for the most part Alphonse came home to a cooked meal, unless Winry was too busy with her own work or caring for Thomas. Edward ignored Alphonse's guilty look. "Okay, so you're here," he said, leaning back against the counter as the coffee thought about brewing. "What am I going to do with you? Everything's so complicated to begin with."

"I don't like this idea of you going into a situation that's going to include hostages," Alphonse said.

"Someone has to act as bait," Edward pointed out.

"And what about all the innocent State Alchemist candidates? What about Sheska, and the generals, and the other military personnel who are involved in this against their will?" Alphonse shut the door to the icebox. "I don't know if I like the person you're becoming, brother."

"If there's another way, I'd be glad to hear it," Edward said sharply.

"Move the interview."

"Can't," Edward said. "Not this late, no one would ever approve it."

"Not even if there's terrorists plotting to blow it UP? I thought acting-Fuhrer Dalton was supposed to be present. That's assassination, conspiracy, treason-"

"Okay, so I go raise the alarm. The Drachmians drop off the face of the earth, everyone freaks out about the security breach, it disrupts everything for weeks and I look like a fucking idiot. Yeah, that totally sounds like the plan I'd like to go with." Edward looked to the side, watched the coffee drip. "You think I WANT to put innocent people in danger over all of this?"

"You're going to."

"I've done worse." Edward said softly. "So have you."

Alphonse grew quiet. "Brother, that's not-"

Edward sighed and Alphonse trailed off. The silence in the kitchen grew awkward as the coffee pot hissed and burbled cheerfully. "If we don't nip this in the bud soon, I'll be doing worse than putting innocent people in danger," Edward said. "I'll be sending them off to die in the north when Drachma attacks us for real." Alphonse met Edward's eyes, and nodded his head once.

"We'll stop this," he said. "We will, brother."

"I know," Edward said. "I plan on it."

* * *

><p>It was still slightly chilly out as the sky lightened along its edges. Rian sat on the roof of the military dorm and watched the sun come up, hands tucked into his jacket and nose buried into his scarf. He had run back to the dorm to sleep, but after staring at the ceiling for way, way too long he finally wandered upstairs and out to the roof, surprising two soldiers who were smoking.<p>

They left soon after, and Rian sat himself on the cold concrete and just thought. That was all he was doing lately, so much so he felt like he would drown in these thoughts. What was he DOING?

Thoughts of his parents, dimmed by the passage of time. His father's bushy brown hair and kind eyes, his mother's quiet demeanor and firm but loving hand. His older sister sitting in front of a mirror and brushing her long straight hair, counting each stroke in two languages.

Then there was choking fire and hatred stirring in his belly. He'd never forgotten that mocking laugh, those pinched eyes, the click of that gun. But over top of that-

The shouting at the large dinner table in the small kitchen of the Hargrove's home. People shoving for spots on the bench because there were always children over. The six kids that belonged to the Hargroves - seven, if you counted Rian - fighting over the chores, filing off to school. The open laughter of his adopted mother, the stern tones of Mr. Hargrove - Rian could never think of the man as anything but that - as he discussed the news and the military with other members of the town.

Rian rested his forehead on his hands, knees hugged to his chest. He had been so SURE, he thought - but clearly that wasn't the case, maybe, just maybe this wasn't the right path for him.

But if that was the case, what was he doing here? About to enter the military that he hated, that he loathed beyond all reasoning for some misguided sense of revenge. How could he live with himself wearing the Amestrian military blue?

It was tearing him apart. Maybe he should just skip out of the examinations, hit the next train and ride it until he was far away from all of this, Howard nothing but a nightmarish memory put behind him. It was an option, Rian had put away some cenz just in case - but that was running away. He had to face Howard, he had to face this murdering monster on his own terms or else he'd never escape him.

And that meant the interview, today. That meant not throwing up on his shoes like he wanted to, standing in front of those officers and professing that he was in fact smart enough, fast enough, clever enough to be deserving of a State Alchemist's title. And if Howard was there, like he was supposed to be -

Rian would face him. And if he had to, to get out from under this, to finally gain his peace, he would kill him. And run. It would be harder than the suicide mission, surely, but...

There was this backup plan he had half-formulated and sat on, mostly because he never thought he'd lose his nerve like this. The backup plan that had him acing the State Alchemist examinations and making it into the military, and working his way straight to Howard's side, so he could slide a well-timed knife between his ribs.

That was still a possibility. A much harder, much riskier possibility, but it was still there.

And he could do it.

The wind was starting to pick up, when Rian actually looked up, the sky was rosy along the horizon, edges of clouds painted red like spilled blood. Rian hoped it wasn't an ill omen.

* * *

><p>Fletcher didn't recognize this place. He recognized the <em>type<em> of place, certainly - it was definitely a military facility of some kind, there was no mistaking the uniformly painted walls and the plain tile floors - but he had no clue where they were, or even if they were still in Central City. He had been unconscious for a very long time, that was plenty of opportunity to throw him in a car or on a train and shuffle him off somewhere a few hours away.

They didn't encounter anyone in the halls, despite Ioana yanking him back several times, and once through a door, hesitating in silence, waiting for news of his escape to echo down the halls. No alarm was raised, and it was mostly silent.

Ioana stole down the hallway expertly, gliding in almost silence. By comparison Fletcher felt large and ungainly, certain that every footfall could be heard throughout the entire establishment. As he watched Ioana move, he had to wonder whose side she was actually on. Sure, she was helping him escape ... but why?

He was paying close attention to their route, cataloging the way they came, memorizing the turns and corridors in case they had to beat a hasty retreat. Whatever building they were in, it was quite large and they were definitely underground. No windows, no natural light, all washed-out fluorescence.

Ioana halted suddenly. "We're close," she said softly, nodding to a single door at the end of the hallway. "I apologize, I have not been entirely honest with you, but we must disarm the explosives before we can leave."

He heard the words, but they only made a bit of sense. "Disarm the - there are EXPLOSIVES here!"

She shot him a dirty look over her shoulder. "Are you trying to get us caught?" she snarled, grabbing him by the sleeve and yanking him back against the wall. Fletcher stared at her as she flattened next to him and they waited in odd, tense silence to see if any attention was attracted by Fletcher's shout. After nearly a full minute, Fletcher remembered to breathe again and Ioana stepped away from the wall.

"You didn't say anything about explosives," Fletcher accused. "What is going ON?"

"What does it sound like?" Ioana returned. "A terrorist cell that is planning to assassinate your acting-Fuhrer to open the floodgates of civil unrest in your country, so as to start what appears to be a very profitable war."

"Who would profit over a war between our countries?"

"You really are very naive, aren't you?" Ioana said, giving him a measuring look. "The military isn't for you, I don't know why your brother involved you in all this."

"That's the second time you've mentioned Russell," Fletcher said, for the first time regretting surrendering the gun back to her. "How is he involved in all of this?"

"I would think that's readily apparent," Ioana said. "And now is not the time to discuss this." She withdrew the gun from the holster at her side and kept in in her hands as she looked up and down the corridor. "You're an alchemist, same as I am. Help me do this and your country will regard you as a hero-"

"Idiot," Fletcher said quietly. "I don't need to be a hero to want to save people's lives. Let's get this done and get out of here - I have answers I need to beat out of my brother if you're not going to give them to me."

They both were startled when the door at the end of the corridor swung outward, the door frame filled with the towering profile of the man who had clobbered Fletcher earlier. "Maks!" Ioana said.

And then Maks stepped aside as a man in military blues stepped out into the hallway. "Good of you to join us, Ioana," he said smoothly. Then he looked to Fletcher. "And you, you're Tringham's brother. So he's the last piece of this puzzle."

"Who the hell are you?" Fletcher said, grip tight on his piece of chalk, wondering if he could get the transmutation circle sketched quickly enough to be of use.

The man - a general, Fletcher recognized the rank insignia he wore - had half-turned, ignoring them and the fact that Ioana had a gun trained on him. "Find Major Tringham," he was shouting back at someone they couldn't see. "Bring him here." He glanced back at Fletcher and Ioana. "Put the gun down, Ioana."

"Like hell," she said, getting a good bead on him. "Sorry Fletcher."

The doors on either side of Fletcher and Ioana slammed open, and Fletcher turned, but not fast enough, tackled to the ground. He heard Ioana's gun go off and then she hit the ground too. Fletcher struggled, twisting under the tight grip but whoever got him kept his face pressed to the floor.

Then the click of the safety coming off a hand gun. "No," he heard the general say. "Not yet. They might be useful leverage if things don't go as planned."

"They're trouble, boss," Maks said. "We can't afford to keep a guard on them."

"That's fine," the person in charge of all this - a general, now Fletcher understood what Ioana meant about him being naive - "I thought of that."

* * *

><p>Base was deserted, but that was no surprise. It was a Saturday, most of the officers didn't work the weekends. Just the PFCs on guard duty and the random soldier getting some last-minute work done before deadlines on Monday. Edward was in uniform, after all he had work to do today, but Alphonse was in his civvies, strolling along beside him. No one ever gave Alphonse a second glance, even those who didn't know him - he just had that effect on people. He was outgoing, personable ... and always looked like he was supposed to be there. It was one of the reasons he was such an asset in Intelligence, no one ever seemed to doubt him.<p>

To Edward's surprise, though, there was someone hard at work in the office when he opened the door. Sheska looked up in surprise, seated at Hawkeye's desk, a mountain of papers accumulated around her. "Good morning," Edward said, as Sheska, startled, managed to knock over a precarious pile with her elbow.

Alphonse moved fast, trying to catch some of the avalanche but it was in vain. Papers spilled everywhere, although he saved a decent amount from the floor. "Oh my gosh, oh my-" Sheska started flailing, trying to rescue papers before another tower started sluicing toward the floor.

Edward reinforced one stack as Alphonse crouched on the floor, straightening the pile as he gathered the loose pages quickly. Sheska sat with her hands on her lap, staring down at the desk, as scarlet as Edward had ever seen her.

The paper avalanche was dealt with quickly. "What on earth," Edward asked as Alphonse dropped a much-neater pile of papers on the desk, "are you doing here ALREADY, Sheska?"

Sheska, still bright red, didn't seem to want to meet Edward's gaze. "Since Captain Hawkeye is visiting family she left me in charge of the rest of the paperwork for the interviews," she said, still staring at the desk in front of her. "I was trying to get everyone's folders ready for you before they started today."

Edward glanced at the pile of papers in disbelief. "All - all of THIS?"

"No!" Sheska said. "I mean, no sir. I mean, some of it is, but some is other- that is, other projects because I was streamlining the processes and time got away from me and I-"

Alphonse started chuckling and Edward gave his brother a nasty look. "Uh, don't worry about the other processes right now, okay Sheska? I just need the basic files for the interviews-" one of the stacks of papers rustled ominously. "Or, forget that. I just want a list of their names, okay?"

"I think I can handle that," Sheska said, the flush fading from her cheeks as she smiled brightly.

"Good. I'll be in my office," Edward said.

Alphonse was still chuckling as he clicked the door closed behind them. Edward gave his brother a particularly evil look as he hiked up and sat on the edge of his desk, arms crossed over his chest. "Told you," Alphonse said, dropping onto one of the couches and hooking his arms over the back. He leaned back and sighed. "Must be nice, having your own office."

Edward snorted, and almost immediately a knock came at the door. "That was fast," Edward said, as the door opened without him giving the go-ahead. Russell Tringham shut the door behind him, looking tired, and older than Edward expected.

Alphonse sat up. Russell looked between them, and Edward raised an eyebrow. With an exaggerated sigh, Russell saluted and let it drop. "One of these days," Edward said, "You're going to be insubordinate in front of the wrong people, and not only will you get YOUR ass kicked for it, but I'll get my ass handed to me on a platter for not being able to keep my own soldiers in line."

"I'm not one of _your_ soldiers," Russell said, and the weariness was in his voice.

"Point still stands."

"Are you all right, Russell?" Alphonse stood up, obviously concerned. "Have you even slept?"

Russell waved him off, rubbed his face down with one hand. "I can sleep when this is over," he said. "More important things right now."

Edward slid off the desk and stood, leaning back against it instead. "Have you found Fletcher?"

"Yeah," Russell said. "The Drachmians have him. I don't know why." He looked to Alphonse. "Why are you even here? This wasn't your op."

"I'm part of it now," Alphonse said. "Under the table, of course." He glanced to Edward, and back to Russell. "This is your rodeo?"

"More or less." Russell was still giving Alphonse an uncertain look. "You're going to try to take this one from me, give it to East Intel?"

"Nope," Alphonse said. "Central Command seems to frown on my brother and I working together on anything." The brothers exchanged a sharp grin, when they put their heads together on something the higher echelon of the military shuddered. "Where do you need me?"

Russell exhaled, and actually smiled. "Good, I was running short of trustworthy people on this one. Given we have, what, three?"

Alphonse indicated the door. "Sheska in on it?"

"Not yet," Edward said.

Alphonse sat back down, and Russell collapsed across from him. Russell seemed to just sink back into the cushions of the couch - not one of the most comfortable pieces of furniture in the office, both Edward and Alphonse had slept on those couches before, but it seemed enough to make Russell look even more exhausted than he clearly was.

The three men looked at each other for a long moment, then a knock came at the door. Edward sighed. "Come in, Sheska."

Sheska opened the door, a clipboard in hand. "I've got you the list of names," she said. "I can - I mean, it will take me a little while longer but I can still put together their folders."

"This'll have to do, thanks," Edward said with a smile. "I don't have much time to go over the folders anyway." Sheska stood next to him, unsure of what to do with her hands now that she had given him the clipboard. "Uh, Sheska?"

"Yes?"

"You're dismissed."

"Oh. Oh! Right, sorry." She grinned at him and exited the room, latching the door behind her. Alphonse and Russell both watched her go, then turned to look at Edward, who was looking at the clipboard and rubbing his forehead with the other hand.

"If either of you say it, I'll have you shot," he said without looking up. "I'll have you both shot. I'll let them use you as target practice for the practical examinations." He finally looked up from the clipboard to matching, ear to ear, slightly demonic grins. "Seriously, stop it."

"When do the interviews start for today?" Alphonse asked as Edward flipped the paper on the clipboard up, skimming the second page.

"Eleven a.m.," Russell said. He had produced a small map of the area, mostly of the building and the streets around it. "It's definitely working to their advantage that we move the actual interviews out of the main command building."

"It was a safety measure," Edward said, still going over his papers but listening in. "Didn't have to worry about granting clearance to potential spies and having them get loose in the base proper."

"Yes, but it makes it even more an excellent target for terrorists," Russell said. "Being in the same building as the labs that the State Alchemists use is nearly as bad."

"While it could be pretty bad, it's not nearly the same level as someone getting loose where they could set off a bomb or blow stuff up near the senior officers' main offices," Alphonse said. "Brother's got a point, it is far safer there than here."

"Anyway," Russell said. "I've got your lady sniper positioned here," he pointed to a building two streets away. "She's got a clear view of the entrance and some of the foyer. If they manage to take the building she's got several windows to the area where the interviews are happening."

"And Havoc?"

"Havoc, you and me," Russell said, "Will be covering the other entrances." He tapped the map. "Not a single one of those terrorists are going to get away."

Alphonse nodded. "I want the terrorists alive."

"I know." Russell sat back, arms crossed. "All orders are shoot to wound unless it cannot be avoided."

"Good." Alphonse looked to Edward. "That leaves the brunt of the work on you, brother."

Edward shrugged, setting the clipboard aside. "Shouldn't be much of a problem."

"They'll have hostages, and we only have a small window before news of this gets out and the army turns out in full force," Russell said.

"So someone should act as a go-between and divert the army," Edward said. "We can handle this."

"I'd rather not divert any of our very limited resources," Russell said. Edward tapped his metal fingers on the desk beside him, and Russell raised an eyebrow.

"Something's been bothering me," Edward said. "Why, of all the years this circus is run, did Fletcher opt to sit for the State Alchemist exams THIS year?"

Russell shrugged. "I needed someone on the inside to feed me information," he said. "I didn't realize he'd stumble into the hornet's nest right off the bat."

Alphonse looked at Russell coldly. "You set your brother up," he said.

"Think what you'd like of me," Russell retorted back. "But I get the job done."

"I'm beginning to understand my brother's dislike of working with you," Alphonse said, sitting back on the couch.

Edward shook his head. "I'd say I can't believe you'd pull that, but I've known you for too long."

"So are we going to clue in Sheska?" Alphonse asked Edward, and this time Edward snorted. "No, huh?"

"Not unless you want to give the game away to the candidates as they walk through the door," he said. "Not that she doesn't try, but she's been really - off, these last few days."

"It would help if she wasn't overly infatuated with you all of a sudden," Russell said. "What dumbass sent her here when she's like this?"

"This dumbass," Alphonse growled.

"Oh," Russell said.

"He sent her here to keep an eye on me," Edward said. "Because he's my idiot little brother and he does stuff like that."

"I wouldn't have to if you weren't such a stubborn jackass," Alphonse retorted.

Russell sat back in the couch. "You two keep arguing," he said, propping his feet up on the coffee table between them. "I'm just going to catch a few winks while you do that."

Edward rolled his eyes as he and Alphonse exchanged looks. "Hawkeye and Havoc are in position?"

"Yup, boss," Russell said, eyes already closed, and then yawned. "Seriously, need this cat-nap."

"In my office, nevertheless," Edward said, but Russell was already out. He stood up, clipboard tucked under his arm. "I've got a meeting with Colonel Neuhaus and General Knowles to go over the requests so far for the practical examinations next week. I trust you can keep yourself occupied for an hour or so?"

Alphonse laughed. "You sound so responsible when you say things like that, brother."

Edward stuck his tongue out at Alphonse as he left. "Responsibility is overrated."

* * *

><p>Alphonse sat at Edward's desk thoughtfully. He had used the phone first, ignoring Russell's snores to check in on his family. Winry was with a customer - of course she was, she would not stop seeing her customers until physically unable to, she was just that dedicated to her work - but was doing fine. He hung up with her, feeling that ache of loneliness at the unexpected separation, however brief. Especially with their next child on the way.<p>

They still hadn't considered a name yet. Alphonse sat back in the chair and swiveled a little, looking out the windows behind the desk thoughtfully. Edward had a nice office - small but cozy, the afternoon sunlight hit it right on and he had a decent view of the parade grounds. It felt comfortable, familiar, a little like home.

Edward was doing a whole lot better than Alphonse had expected. It had been a few months since he'd last seen his brother, on an inspection tour with several generals, escorting the acting-Fuhrer as he traveled to East City and some of the outlying commands. It was a world of difference from before. After Roy had first died it seemed like Edward was determined to waste away into nothing, aimless, not emerging from the bedroom made up for him in the Rockbell house for days at a time. It was not uncommon for Alphonse to retrieve Edward's dishes only to find he hadn't touched his food.

That had to have been the worst time. Winry would cry herself sick over Edward with worry, beating sheet metal paper-thin with a mallet just to keep herself occupied. With Alphonse restored to flesh and Roy gone, there seemed to be nothing in this world that interested Edward in the slightest.

And then, the day before the funeral, Jean Havoc had shown up at their door in Resembool. He was exhausted, and he looked older than Alphonse remembered. All Havoc wanted was to speak to Edward.

Alphonse still wasn't sure what was in the exchange they had shared behind closed doors. He had sat in the dining room with Winry, silent, as they heard Edward's shouting voice through the floor, and Havoc's tone raised in anger. Then Havoc had emerged and left with a cursory farewell and no indication of the purpose of his visit.

An hour later, Edward had emerged from his room, dry-eyed and tired. Winry fed him with an almost manic glee, berating him between servings, although Alphonse wasn't sure that Edward heard any of it. His eyes were dark, almost dull. He was considering something.

Still on crutches, in his military uniform he stood as straight as he could beside Alphonse at the funeral. Dry-eyed, but his face was alive for the first time since he came back from the front in a wheelchair, he told Hawkeye and Alphonse of his plans as he stood between them. He asked for their support. When Alphonse had half-turned, he could see Havoc behind them, a grim smile on his face, then Alphonse knew.

Edward was single-minded in his goal. Those first few years he worked tirelessly, relentlessly. He slept at the office. He didn't mingle. He rarely talked to anyone. He came first to Resembool, and then when Alphonse and Winry moved to East City, there as well only for automail maintenance. Alphonse only heard from Edward when he initiated contact.

But as time passed, and Edward grew: grew used to his role in the military, used to the people, and glimmers of his old self started to show through. It was a relief. For almost a year Alphonse heard more from Havoc than his own brother, but now ... things weren't normal. There was no such thing as "normal" in the Elric's world. But they were better. Edward had visited of his own volition when Thomas was born. He'd sat for them - with protests, of course - when they went on a week's vacation to the west. (Alphonse would never forget Edward's indignant diatribe at the train station as he thrust his infant nephew back into Winry's arm. "He bit me! AND PEED ON ME!")

Edward would be the one to fix this military, Alphonse knew that. And he would stand by his brother and support him in any way that he could.

Although there didn't seem to really be any way to fix that damn idiot's suicidal nature. Alphonse sighed, amused. Maybe, if he could find someone to help heal that wound on his heart Edward wouldn't rush head-first into trouble like always.

He swiveled the chair back to facing the desk and knew why the cozy office seemed so familiar. Some things Edward would just never be able to let go.

* * *

><p>There was no chance that anything he'd try to eat would stay down, so Rian only had a shaky cup of tea before reporting to the building where the State Alchemist interviews were being held. The lobby was buzzing, full of wannabe alchemists of all measures. Today was the last day for interviews, and there were a lot of them. Rian signed himself in with a bubbly woman with brown hair and glasses, then found a seat.<p>

He sat, hands curled on his knees, staring at the tile floor. He still had no idea what he was going to do. This morning, he had drawn on the palms of his hands the transmutation circles he needed. He hadn't trembled, he knew the lines by heart. The most simple and basic transmutation circles for combustion. He had made himself a living bomb. Simple white gloves covered the ink traced on his hands - no one would suspect a thing.

The alchemists around him were buzzing with conversation. Theories about their compatriots, rumors about those who had passed and failed the interviews already, speculation about what they'd do for their practical examinations in the next week when - and if - they made it that far. Rian by far was the quietest in the lobby, withdrawn into himself. He felt like he was going to be sick.

What a fool he was.

The door at the end of the lobby opened but conversation didn't still like it had earlier when the Major-General had come through. She was an intimidating woman, ice-blue eyes that swept over the lot of them. Her eyes had lingered the barest moment on Rian's, but then she was gone, past the woman who had scrambled to her feet and into the room beyond.

Few had recognized her, but Rian overheard the discussion. That was Major-General Armstrong, one of the most feared tacticians in the military. Her appearance fueled conversations for a while, Rian listening in and not taking part. He had never bothered to really get to know any of the other candidates and now they just ignored him, never bothering to engage him in their conversations.

But then the door opened again, and another blond stalked through the room, still flipping through pages on his clipboard and only glancing up to avoid running into someone else walking through the lobby. This time amber eyes accidentally passed over his, and he stopped dead in the middle of the room and stared at Rian - and this time Rian had nowhere to hide.

"You," the colonel rumbled.

This time conversation did still, as the military officer had paused in his stride and not continued on. People looked around at Rian, who was trying so very hard to make himself smaller in his seat, as if that would make him less the target of the man's ire.

"Uh," Rian said, as all the eyes in the room turned to him. "Hi?"

At that moment the door from the outside slammed open, and Rian was rescued by the person he least wanted to see in the world. General Howard stalked down the now-silent lobby, glowering openly at everyone who would meet his eye. "Colonel Elric!" he snapped.

The man who was glaring at Rian actually rolled his eyes before turning and saluting. Rian gripped the sides of his chair, stomach having long since abandoned his body and stared, white-faced, at the man who had tormented him from afar for so many years. General Howard never once looked his way, and whatever he said to the Colonel flew right over Rian's head completely. The man swept past the colonel regally and stormed right into the room that the Major-General had already entered.

Colonel Elric, as Rian now knew him, dropped his hand from the salute and said audibly "Fucking HATE his guts," apparently forgetting he was surrounded by prospective alchemists. He gave Rian one last, icy glare, before going to the woman who had been checking in alchemists. Rian exhaled, finally, and pried his hands from the seat edges. Even if he didn't put his plan into action, he had the feeling he would be quite lucky to live through the day.

The colonel had disappeared into the interview room and the woman in charge read a name from the clipboard, her voice lost in the mill of conversation that had started up the moment the officers had vanished. She tried twice, and the third time Rian heard his own name clearly.

He was _first._

Rian swallowed, stood up, and forced himself calm. He could do this, no matter the outcome. He was an alchemist, after all.

* * *

><p>This time, Edward took the seat to the right of Major-General Armstrong with no quarrel whatsoever. She sat between him and Howard and that was perfectly fine with him - it kept the temptation of transmuting the man's head into a watermelon to a bare minimum. He was still juggling the fact that that kid - the kid that strangely kept turning up in his thoughts, from the library - was HERE, and one of the prospective State Alchemists. If he had had the time before Howard's abrupt appearance Edward would have yanked the kid into a side room and lectured him about signing up for the military underage, no matter WHAT his talents as an alchemist might be.<p>

But now Howard was here, and as far as he could tell he was still bitching at Edward, but Edward was ignoring him, skimming once again over the list of alchemists. He had stopped by Sheska, told her to pick out the name on the list that was the young alchemist's - he wanted to get the kid out of here before shit hit the fan. He had already primed his rejection of the young man - he really didn't care if the kid could transmute circles around him, he was not going to be responsible for someone young and malleable like that ending up in the hands of some idiot asshole like Howard. There were no more Mustangs in this military to protect stubborn kids like that.

He sensed two sets of eyes on him, and he looked up. Major-General Armstrong was looking at him, her gaze as neutral as it ever was. Her mask was harder to crack than Roy's, and as much as he was afraid of her the Major-General was one of the few of the upper echelon that Edward actually respected. General Howard, on the other hand, was glowering at him. "You've been ignoring every word I've said," the man said, clearly insulted.

Edward glanced down at his clipboard, then back up to Howard. If Major-General Armstrong wasn't present he might have lit into the man - if his insubordination was reported it would be his word against Howard's - but instead he gritted his teeth. "General," Edward said after a long pause. "I apologize. I've been distracted lately, there is a lot going on right now."

"I'd say so," Howard said huffily. "I should have questioned your promotion more thoroughly, you're clearly not capable of handling the increase in your duties."

The wooden clipboard made an audible crack as Edward's automail hand - disguised as ever by his white gloves - tightened on it. Howard blanched at the sound, but Edward's voice was calm and level. "Forgive me, sir, but my office is short-staffed currently. I believe it was your vote that denied my request for more resources, with it I would not have as much to do."

"You are performing quite capably," Major-General Armstrong said. "With such limited resources, Colonel Elric." Her one visible eye was trained on Howard, who shrunk slightly in his seat. "I would do well to have someone of your caliber working for me at Fort Briggs. Perhaps you would consider a transfer?"

Edward shook his head. "You flatter me, Major-General, but the cold doesn't suit me." He picked up a pencil and checked off something on his list. "General Howard, did you have a question for me, or should we begin?"

Howard's eyes were dark. "No, Colonel. Please send for the first alchemist."

* * *

><p>Two things happened as Rian stood up to cross the room. The first was that the man who was sitting next to him, a Drachmian whose name Rian had never bothered to learn, stood up and grabbed his arm tightly. Rian swung about immediately, fist curled tight to punch the man in the face but his punch faltered as he realized that the man had a gun pointed directly at his face with the other hand.<p>

The second was that the other three Drachmians in the lobby all stood up brandishing guns at the same time, grabbing the alchemists nearest to them and pointing their weapons directly at them. "Nobody panic," one of the men opposite Rian shouted. "The first person to go for transmutation circle, this one here," he yanked the woman he had by the arm tightly, "Dies."

Rian twisted in the man's grip, but he had him tight. Adrenaline had kicked in and Rian wasn't going to go down without a fight. However, the Drachmian who had Rian by his arm was so much taller that there was no way he'd get any leverage to fight back.

"Your name is Rian, yes?" The one holding him shoved him forwards. Rian stumbled over his feet, got them back under himself and turned to glare at his captor. "Come, Rian. Let's go explain to our military officers the situation that they are in now."

The woman sitting at the desk was still there, sitting ramrod-straight and staring at the men with guns with a terrifying intensity. She turned her glare on Rian, first, skin tight around her eyes and then she stared at the man holding him. "They're through there, yes?" the man indicated with the gun.

"Yes," she said sharply. "I don't know what you hope to accomplish, but you won't get away with it."

"We'll see," he said, shoving Rian forward. He released Rian, there was no place for him to go. The transmutation circles in his palms seemed to burn, all it would take was both of his hands on the man and he could set his blood to boiling, set up an internal combustion - "What the fuck are you staring at?" The man's Amestrian was clipped and accented but it was a snarl that was followed by something probably even more obscene in Drachmian. "Open the damn door."

"No," Rian said.

"What in the hell-" The barrel of the man's gun was only a few inches away from Rian's face, pressed almost to his eye. "Are you trying to be a fucking hero, kid? Do you know what we do to people who want to play hero?"

It was strange how calm he felt. The agitation in his stomach had calmed, the fear was all gone. It was like he was completely disconnected from the world. Rian stared at the man, one hand on the door behind him, the other at his side. "I'm not trying to be a hero," Rian said, his voice level. "I don't want to die."

"Well, you're gonna," the man said, his gun trembling.

"No," Rian said. "I'm not."

He had found the handle of the door behind him. Rian's free hand whipped forward and shoved the gun aside as the Drachmian pulled the trigger with a jerk. The gun recoiled in his hand and Rian couldn't hear out of one ear, the concussive sound of the gunshot reverberating in his ears. After a second's shock - he didn't expect that to WORK, he wasn't hit - Rian slammed the door open and scrambled backwards, the wood splintering near his head where the bullet did hit.

"Come back here!" the man shouted, getting a fist full of Rian's scarf as he fled into the interview room. He was jerked backwards by his scarf, and he gasped as his feet flew out from under him. He saw Howard on his feet, a gun in hand, and the other two officers still seated before he hit the ground hard enough to knock the wind out of him.

The Drachmian put a boot on his chest, gun pointed down at him. "You're far too much trouble," he said. Rian wrapped both of his hands around the man's boot as he tried to drag oxygen into his bruised lungs.

"No," Howard said from afar. "Don't kill him yet."

Saved. A second time. The Drachmian snarled something in his native language, but his shoulders relax as he took his bead off of Rian. Rian swallowed dryly, panting painfully under the man's boot as he fought the blackness closing in on him.

* * *

><p>It had happened faster that Edward was anticipating. The muted noise from the lobby, always a constant, had gone strangely silent. He had exchanged a look with Armstrong, was in the process of getting to his feet when the gunshot splintered the heavy wooden door.<p>

Howard was faster, for a man of his age. He was on his feet, his service revolver pointed at Armstrong, who was still seated, and Edward, who was half out of his seat. "I'd keep my seat if I were you," Howard growled. Edward dropped back down into his seat, bristling.

"So you're the one behind it all," Edward said.

Armstrong hadn't moved, her expression the same as always, eyes closed. Howard glanced at her, then back to Edward, gun pointed at him. "You don't seem surprised."

"I'm not," Edward said, hands resting on the desk. "I figured this would lead back to you one way or another. At least now that you've shown your true colors, it'll be easier to prosecute your ass." Edward's grin was sharkish. "Well. If I leave anything left TO prosecute-"

As Edward spoke, the door swung inward as one of the prospective State Alchemists scrambled inside, trying to get away from a Drachmian who yanked him back by his scarf. It was the kid. Edward's hands curled into fists on the desk. There were two of them, both with guns, there was no way he'd be able to get to both of them at the same time, so he had to risk either Major-General Armstrong or risk the life of a civilian.

"No," Howard said, gesturing with his gun. "Don't kill him yet." He glanced back to Edward with a smug grin. "It's only a pity that acting-Fuhrer Dalton wasn't here to be assassinated, but a Major-General and a Colonel are good collateral. It'll be a successful enough terrorist attack, and I'll just barely escape to tell my tale. We'll be marching on the North before the end of the month."

"I don't get it," Edward said. "What's in this for you?"

"Money." Major-General Armstrong spoke for the first time. "War profiteering. Someone is paying him to get this war started."

Howard shrugged. "Maybe I just prefer the battlefield. It's not for either of you to know, anyway." He cocked his gun and grinned at Edward. "I have been waiting for this day to come."

"Funny," Edward said. "Me too."

Abruptly, the Drachmian in the room let off an undignified shriek as his boot caught on fire. The young alchemist who he had been pinning rolled out from under him, coughing. Howard's attention had been caught by the commotion and Edward moved, throwing himself back, chair and all and clapping at the same time. His path was clear, Armstrong had already vacated her seat and Edward was on Howard in a heartbeat, automail blade shearing through the revolver and coming close to taking off Howard's fingertips. Edward's left hand followed his right as Howard jerked backwards, catching the man's jaw and slamming him toward the table.

Armstrong had moved just as quickly, spearing the Drachmian scrambling for the door with one quickly drawn sword to the wall, through his shoulder. The man screamed in pain as she twisted the blade. "How many of you?"

"Seven!" the man shrieked.

"Seven Drachmians, are you kidding me?" Edward asked Howard, his head still pressed to the desk. "Do you have any idea who you're trying to fuck over, here?"

"I'm sure if he had, he would have been better prepared," Armstrong said. She whipped her sword out of the man's flesh and the Drachmian screamed in pain and blood flicked across the wall and floor.

"Don't kill him," Edward said, echoing Howard's words a few moments prior. "Intel wants these idiots alive."

"You're working for Intelligence now, hm?" Armstrong had pulled a handkerchief and was sliding it along the length of her blade, removing the blood with a practiced motion. "You're full of surprises, Colonel Elric."

Howard struggled under Edward's firm hand. "I'll have you court-martialed for this!" he yelled.

"Seriously?" Edward said. "You are going to have ME court-martialed? What planet are YOU fucking from?" He glanced over to the young alchemist, who was sitting on the ground, one hand on his chest where the man's foot had been firmly planted. "You all right over there, kid?"

"My name's not kid," he snapped back. "It's Rian."

"Whatever. That was a nice piece of alchemy there, where'd you pull that from?"

"My secret," Rian retorted. He was staring at Howard and Edward recognized that look in someone's eyes. He frowned, but then there was a scuffle from outside the half-open door. "What else is going on out there?" Edward asked as Armstrong moved toward the door.

Then the screaming started.

* * *

><p>At least this time, his hands weren't tied behind his back, Fletcher thought positively. His hands were in cuffs this time, on the other side of the pillar behind him. He tilted his head back and looked straight up. They were in one of the basement rooms wired with explosives, support pillars ran across the room and along the top part of each pillar was enough dynamite to bring the ceiling down on them.<p>

Ioana was bound similarly across from him. She hadn't lifted her head once since they snapped the cuffs on them - and when Fletcher had tried to get her attention, one of the two men who were still wiring the explosives under the supervision of Maks came over and kicked him in the side.

He didn't break any ribs, fortunately, but Fletcher knew for a fact that they had to be bruised since it hurt to breathe now. The men snapped back and forth at each other in Drachmian, but they might as well been speaking gibberish for all the Drachmian that Fletcher knew.

Whoever the general had dispatched to find Russell hadn't returned. Fletcher couldn't decide if that was good or bad news. Conceivably, his brother knew what sort of shit that Fletcher was in. He felt distinctly manipulated into all of this, and he hadn't decided if he was going to break Russell's fingers or nose first. He wasn't THAT much taller than his older brother, but he did have muscle on him.

Then there was gunfire upstairs, and screaming.

All three of the men jerked physically. The two underlings looked to Maks uncertainly, and he snapped something at them in Drachmian. Fletcher watched them argue curiously, and then the men abandoned the remainder of the explosives in the floor and made for the door.

"Huh," Fletcher said out loud. Ioana raised her head and looked at the door. "What was that all about?"

"They heard gunfire," Ioana said. "And decided that it wasn't worth it to stay and get killed. They wired a remote detonator in one of the pillars, and they plan on detonating it once they're out of the building."

Fletcher looked up again. "Well shit, then no use hanging around _here._"

Ioana shot him a withering look. "Well, unless you've got a lock-pick on you..."

Fletcher twisted against the pillar. "Not a lock-pick, no." He shifted forward, strained against them and grunted. After about thirty seconds of this he raised both hands to Ioana, grinning. She stared at him, suspiciously, as Fletcher got to his feet and moved around behind her pillar.

"How did you do that?"

"You wouldn't believe how many sets of handcuffs I've had to slip out of," Fletcher said. "At least it wasn't those board-handcuffs that the military likes to use, we'd be screwed if they had that."

Ioana rubbed her wrists as Fletcher released her from the cuffs. "Thank you," she said, getting to her feet quickly. "We've got to stop them before they get out of here."

"I agree," Fletcher said, and they both made for the door.

* * *

><p>Major-General Armstrong did not hesitate a second when the screaming started and was out the door in an instant. Edward groaned aloud, and Howard struggled under his grip. "Let me GO," the man snarled. "You have no right-"<p>

"First you shoot at me, then you're upset when I restrain you," Edward said. "There's an easy solution to this." He slammed Howard's head against the desk hard enough that he shut up, his eyes rolling up in his head as he passed out. Edward poked him to make sure he wasn't faking it, then he released Howard's head.

The kid - Rian, Edward's head self-corrected for him - was standing there with his mouth open. "You didn't see that," Edward said as he peeled his one intact glove off of his left hand. "Not that I care or anything, but someone important is probably gonna ask how he got a broken nose AND a concussion, so." There was gunfire from outside the room and Edward scowled, and pointed at Rian. "Stay here," and then pointed to Howard. "Watch him. If he wakes up, I give you permission to kick his face in or something."

Edward didn't wait to see how the kid reacted. He kicked the door open, Armstrong had let it bang shut behind her, and dove out into the fray.

It was pure madness, people running everywhere. There was a Drachmian candidate sitting on the floor in shock, still alive but missing both hands, his gun laying on the floor in front of him. The other three had been shooting at Armstrong, who had yet to be hit. Everyone who was not a hostage was bailing, which was the smart thing to do.

The terrorists had separated, each had a hostage, and had their guns trained on Armstrong. It was beyond him as to why they hadn't fired yet, but Edward was now running on instinct and not tactics. He clapped his hands, dropped them to the tile floor and moved the entire ground beneath them.

Sheska was being held by a Drachmian within Edward's direct line of sight. She wasn't going passively, either, he had her by her hair, glasses long since knocked off her face, and the gun pressed to her head. He turned his gun and bead on Edward when Edward transmuted the floor, and the tile underneath his feet shifted. Sheska kicked her captor then and he yelped and Armstrong was on him.

The other two were split in their decision, one shooting at Armstrong and the other training his hand gun on Edward. Edward, who had been shot at more times than he could count now, kept his automail in front of him and heard a bullet ping off the metal. He leaped up on the chairs and used that as a springboard to put both feet into the Drachmian's face.

Edward rolled and was on his feet in an instant. That hostage freed, and the terrorist wasn't going to be walking out of here unaided. That just left one.

One, who was smart enough not to waste his bullets on either Armstrong or Edward, and had his gun pressed to the side of a young candidate's head. "Take one more step closer and I will splatter his brains all over the wall," the man said.

Edward glanced at Armstrong, who had blood dripping off of her saber, and knew that she wouldn't hesitate, regardless of the outcome for the hostage. He was backing toward the exit, hostage in front of him, and Edward remembered. He held out a hand to Armstrong. "Let him go," Edward said.

Armstrong gave him a disdainful look, grip tightening on her saber. "You presume to give me an order, Colonel?"

"Just wait," Edward muttered.

The shot shattered the glass door. The hostage shrieked as the terrorist pitched forward onto the tile, blood splattering forward. The hostage scrambled backwards, tripping over his feet and landing on his ass.

"You all right?" Edward asked him, and the guy staggered to his feet and bolted out the broken door. "Guess he's not State Alchemist material then," Edward murmured.

Armstrong toed over the corpse. "Impressive," she said. "Captain Hawkeye's handiwork, I assume."

"She wasn't supposed to shoot to kill," Edward said, standing. "But, I think we have plenty alive to haul in over this fiasco." He clapped his hands to restore the automail, shaking out his ruined sleeve mournfully. "Plus, the asshole at the center of this steaming load."

"It seems to me," Armstrong said as she meticulously cleaned her sword on the clothing of the dead terrorist, "That you were quite prepared for this to happen."

"Just covering my bases," Edward said. "I learned from the best, after all. Though I think I lucked out, it would have been messier if you weren't here. Thank you for the assistance, Major-General, I'm going to go check on our prisoner."

* * *

><p>Fletcher took the stairs two at a time. He had seen the Drachmian disappear around the corner at the top of the stairs. Ioana was somewhere behind him, but Fletcher didn't wait for her.<p>

They didn't seem interested in waiting around for Fletcher to catch up with them. The door at the end of the corridor bounced off its frame as they made for the exit. Fletcher slammed through the door and ducked on pure instinct as Maks took a swing at his head.

Right outside the door, Russell had been waiting for them. Fletcher barely glanced at his brother as he put his shoulder into Maks' chest, trying to take the larger, burly man down.

That left the other two for Russell - one of which threw Russell against the wall. "One of them has a detonator," Fletcher yelled as Maks grabbed the front of his shirt and slammed him back against the wall as well. Fletcher's head hit brick and he saw stars. He heard Russell swear and somehow he thought to throw his forearms up to block the meaty left hook.

Maks let the dazed Fletcher go when Russell managed to break a sizable piece of a busted chair he must have gotten out of a dumpster over the Drachmian's head. Fletcher flailed back against the wall hard, touched the back of his head and felt blood, then glanced to the two Drachmians who were giving Russell trouble.

One was laid out, unconscious, the other was pinned by Alphonse Elric's forearm against the wall. Fletcher's attention flew back to Russell, who had apparently only infuriated the very large Drachmian with the direct hit to his cranium. He scrambled to his feet as Maks pulled something out of his jacket - and Fletcher's fist met the underside of his jaw. Maks took another step back and Russell hit him with the debris again. This took the man to his knees, and a kick to the head took him down and out. Fletcher doubled over, breathing hard, and touched his head again.

Russell pushed him up by his shoulder. "Fletcher!" he nearly shouted. "Are you all right!"

Fletcher stared at his brother - who was bloodied by his scrape with the other two men - then reared back and punched Russell in the mouth.

Russell took a step back and spat blood. "Fletcher-!"

"The next time you want to get me involved in your insanity, at least give me the details first," Fletcher said, leaning back against the wall and exhaling.

Alphonse dropped the third thug to the ground. "Bad news."

Fletcher's heart dropped. "No detonator."

"No detonator."

"Shit," Fletcher and Russell said at the same time, and looked at each other. "They must have handed it off in there somewhere," Fletcher said. "On the way out."

"Fuck, we'll never find it," Russell said. "We've got to get everyone out of there."

Fletcher looked around abruptly, realizing that Ioana never followed him out. "Ioana!"

"Who?" Alphonse asked. "Fletcher!"

Fletcher had turned and yanked the door open, running back into the building. "The place is wired to blow, now," Russell said. "We've got to get everyone out." Alphonse and Russell looked at each other, and charged into the building after Fletcher.

* * *

><p>They left him alone with General Howard.<p>

Rian turned around and stared at the unconscious form of his mortal enemy with a strange fascination. Never in his wildest dreams did he think he'd be left _alone_ with him...unconscious, undefended...

Howard was making whistling noises as he breathed through a broken nose, delivered by the blond Colonel Elric.

Rian had pulled the piece of chalk he kept in his jacket pocket and, for lack of anything else, had drawn a transmutation circle on the wooden desk beside Howard. The man was completely at Rian's mercy.

It was his favorite transmutation circle, one he had devised but never had opportunity to use. It would be nothing at all to snap Howard's neck, to suffocate him and then disappear. In this mess there were only a handful of people who might even slightly suspect that General Howard's untimely death came from one of candidates...and even then that Colonel would be looked at more than Rian. Asphyxiation would be easiest, would leave no marks on the body until an autopsy. By then Rian could have easily lost himself in one of the many small remote villages that dotted the Amestrian countryside.

He touched the transmutation circle with two fingers, and it lit blue, a slight wind picking up around them both. It was a very specialized transmutation circle, designed to draw all the breathable oxygen out of a small, contained space - about five feet by five feet, usually. Suffocation was assured. Rian just had to take a few steps back and he could watch Howard struggle to breathe, he had plenty of time to recall how mercilessly his family had been slaughtered at his man's hands.

Then, abruptly, the winds stopped as Colonel Elric slammed the blade extending from his right arm through the desk and slicing the transmutation circle clean in two. Rian barely had time to state his dismay before the man whirled, grabbed Rian by the front of his jacket and shoved him back into the wall behind them.

Rian thudded back against the wall, stars exploding in his vision. Mercifully, the man kept the point of the automail blade out of his face for the moment. "What the FUCK do you think you're doing!" he yelled, slamming Rian against the wall a second time.

He grabbed the man's arm with both hands, twisting in his jacket, boots barely scraping the floor. "He ... he killed my- it's my right to-"

The man's eyes were narrowed, far too close, Rian couldn't get away. He kicked weakly but he hadn't realized how much this had taken out of him because he couldn't get up the energy to kick the man in the gut, enough to free himself. "He killed my family," Rian got out finally, tears burning in the corners of his eyes. "Killed them all, right in front of me, would have killed me too if he had the bullets, he killed them _all_-" He gasped, swallowed - "Should have killed me too-"

With an inarticulate sound of rage the man slammed his automail blade into the wall beside Rian's head, not close enough to do him damage but enough to make him flinch away. "Fucking SHITHEADS," the man yelled, let him go and wrenched the automail from the wall. Howard had started to wake up, woozy, and Edward kicked the man's chair out from under him so he fell back against the tile floor.

Released, Rian slid back against the wall, not quite into a seated position. He was gasping, breathing hard. "I don't have TIME for this," Colonel Elric snarled. He grabbed the seated, confused Howard by the front of his uniform. "I _really_ don't like you," he said. "I could let this kid kill you here and walk out with a clean conscience. But," and he looked to Rian, gold eyes narrowed. "I'm not going to, because that's not how we do things."

"No," Howard said. "But it is how _I_ do things."

Colonel Elric looked back at Howard, who had somehow managed to produce a small service revolver. There was blood streaming down his face from his nose and mouth, but he had the barrel of the gun pointed directly at the blond colonel's face.

Rian felt his stomach drop. He could see again plain as day Howard with his revolver pressed to his father's face - and that was it. He was on his feet and moving, bringing his hands together - those transmutation circles inscribed on his palms beneath the gloves burning his skin as he clapped them together and initiated the transmutation - and he was on Howard, one hand on the arm with the gun, yanking it away as Howard yelled in shock and the other on the gun. The reverberation from the transmutation shot straight through both his hands but Rian held on tight. It was concussive, supposed to ignite the correct material but something was wrong, maybe the lines got smeared when his hands started to sweat but whatever the issue Howard screamed in pain as the transmutation rebounded. The gun almost seemed to melt and his arm flopped.

Howard grabbed Rian by the hair, trying to pull him off but Colonel Elric's metal fist made short work of the General's teeth. Howard released Rian and Edward slammed the man bodily against the wall and dropped him.

Rian landed on his side. He rolled onto his back and yanked his gloves off with his teeth. The transmutation circles burned still and he scrubbed the ink, rubbing his hands against the tile. The ink seemed seared into his skin, the rebound hitting him too.

He blew on his hands, the pain white-hot - then suddenly the cool automail closed over his hand and the colonel turned his palm up to study it. "Did you come up with this transmutation circle?"

Rian couldn't talk for the pain, but he nodded his head, other hand curled into a fist. "Huh," the man said. "That's pretty complex. I think you turned the bones in his arm to dust with that transmutation."

"He deserved it," Rian choked out.

The colonel gave him a considering look. "Thank you."

The door banged open and a man who looked remarkably similar to the colonel stood in the door. "THERE you are," he said, breathing hard. "We have to get out of here, brother, this place is wired to explode and we don't know where the detonator is-"

"It's Howard's fault," Colonel Elric said, indicating the unconscious mess that was the General. "Grab him, would you?" As he spoke, the entire building rocked.

Rian started to scramble to his feet, but the colonel hoisted him up, slinging him over his shoulder. "Hey!" Rian gasped, tried to struggle but whenever his hands made contact the pain lit fresh.

"Stop struggling," the colonel ordered. "Al, grab Howa-" the floor rocked with another explosion and the other man grabbed the colonel by the shoulder and shoved him out the door.

* * *

><p><strong>Epilog<strong>

The piercing screech of the train's whistle drove Fletcher to distraction without fail. He stood on the train platform and glowered at the steam engine.

Two long weeks had passed since "the incident" as it had grown to be called. Fletcher had spent the day after in the hospital for observation, despite his very firm insistence that he was quite okay, thank you very much, but apparently bruised ribs and a mild concussion was enough to keep him over night.

Alphonse Elric had stopped in to see him. He knew Alphonse on sight now - he had recognized him from his resemblance to Edward when he had appeared in the alley but it was hard to believe that the high-voiced, empty suit of armor had been this man as a child. Edward even swung by, completely unscathed from the encounter.

It blew his mind that it was Edward in charge of the State Alchemist exams, but it was completely fitting. Edward offered him a pass on the practical - he had that authority, especially given Fletcher's actions in the conflict, but Fletcher turned him down. It was never his intention to take the State Alchemist's title in the first place, he had just applied because his brother had asked him to.

His brother - who didn't turn up once during the few days Fletcher spent in town recuperating. He was stuck in Central until the mess got cleared up because he sure as hell wasn't ferrying back and forth for questioning.

He never located Ioana in the maze of hallways in the basement of the building. Fletcher had wracked his brain, trying to remember when he lost her. There was no way she could have _not_ gotten out of there, she seemed far too well-trained to let that be the end of her. But he'd never found another trace of her.

It was disconcerting.

And so the questioning ended, and Fletcher was free to return to Aquaroya, and Arianne.

The train whistle screeched again, and steam poured out of the engine as it strained like a horse, ready to chase the open track. Fletcher was out of time.

He picked up his suitcase and trotted for the carriage, passing several pillars that reached far above their heads to the roof. Leaning against one was Russell.

Fletcher hesitated mid-stride. He met his brother's eyes - who grinned for him, touched two fingers to his hairline and said, "Thanks."

Then the train was pulling out of the station, and Fletcher couldn't stop. He slung his suitcase onto the train, and jumped aboard as the carriage picked up speed. He waved a hand at his brother, who returned the wave, and then picked up his suitcase and boarded the car properly.

Fletcher was smiling.

* * *

><p>"I can't believe they didn't recover a body," Edward complained. "After all that, and no body."<p>

"Mmhm," Captain Hawkeye said, following a step behind Edward as Edward stalked down the hallway.

"No body! You know what that means. That means he'll be back."

"Or it means that his body is still under a pile of rubble," Havoc suggested from Edward's other side.

"Oh come on, do you really believe that?" Edward argued.

"No more than you apparently believe that he was able to survive all the trauma you put him through," Havoc pointed out.

"I didn't kill him, though," Edward grunted.

"The total tally of new State Alchemists is eight," Hawkeye confirmed from her clipboard, trying to steer the conversation back in the correct direction.

Edward scoffed aloud. "And how many did our tiny little garrison get assigned? None! Again."

Hawkeye and Havoc glanced at each other behind Edward's back. "Actually sir, we did get assigned a State Alchemist," Hawkeye said.

"Really?" Edward stopped at the door to the office. "I missed the naming ceremony since I was stuck in East City on forced detainment."

"That was on the acting-Fuhrer's orders sir," Hawkeye reminded him.

"Mandatory vacation time," Edward muttered. "I'm fine, I wasn't even hurt."

"I don't think that was the point, boss." Havoc opened the door for them and they entered the office.

Sheska was sitting on the edge of Bailey's desk, cooing over an open book with him, while Cushler typed up a report. Cushler stood up so fast to salute his chair on wheels shot out behind him. Bailey looked up, but didn't stand, and did kind of a little hand salute thing before going back to the book he was reading with Sheska.

"Relax, Cushler," Edward said, clapping the man on the shoulder as he passed. "Which alchemist did we get assigned, Hawkeye?"

She flipped the paper over on her clipboard. "The Gale Alchemist, sir."

"Gale Alchemist? Huh," Edward mused. "Send him in when he reports for duty."

"Uh," Cushler said as Edward opened the door to his office. "He's already here, sir."

* * *

><p>Rian Martin stood up as the door to the office opened. Colonel Edward Elric shut the door behind him and cast a glance over Rian. He crossed the room wordlessly and seated himself at his desk, raising his eyebrow at Rian.<p>

He was in the military now, even if he didn't wear the uniform. Rian remembered then to salute and the colonel propped one elbow on the arm rest of his chair, chin in hand, and grinned sharply.

"Now this," Edward said. "Is going to be _fun._"


End file.
